


They're All Idiots

by Aprilis, jexlane



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Threesome - F/M/M, also there is zero sex happening, everyone is really stupid, sex is not a thing that we wrote in this, we're really sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1201771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aprilis/pseuds/Aprilis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jexlane/pseuds/jexlane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flower is very confused and hormonal but he's also kind of okay with just being fuckbuddies. He's chill like that. (The pot helps.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	They're All Idiots

**Author's Note:**

> This started with Gemma sending an email titled "i want a high school au where flower is a sk8rboi that is all" and then Penny wrote back and suddenly we had 63 pages of really melodramatic angsty crack. We had a lot of fun writing this, and were going to make it an actual fic, but then we were too lazy so now the text is half-chat-fic and half-kindasortareal-fic. Sorry about that. Most of this was written at like 1 am on school nights but we're okay with it and we hope you are too. Love us. Please.

gemma: i want a high school au where Flower is a sk8rboi that is all

penny: give me all of that can Sid be his bff who's a history nerd

geno's the exchange kid

Max Talbot is the football jock who Flower's in love with

OBV

gemma: obviously Flower always has Sid's back bc Sid is a gigantic dork who isn't that great with doing the social but Flower's a pretty chill dude, always has the best pot and is athletic enough he's not a total loser, but once the exchange kid comes in (who is also a closet history nerd) and Sid's family hosts him, well.

Flower has a lot more time to spend hanging with Talbo.

penny: Sid finds himself falling crazily for the exchange kid, which is awkward for like 20 reasons, not the least of which is a) he's sleeping in the same house b) he speaks v little english, c) Sid thought history and hockey were it for him. so he's over there having emotional freakouts and he doesn't really know what to do. and normally, Flower would be all, 'chill, bro, and just ask him out,' but then when he starts hanging out more with Talbo, he finds himself feeling all kinds of confused about emotions. and he doesn't really know what to do. that's a new feeling!

gemma: Flower is esp confused because there is also Vero who is a very sweet (yet demonically evil, honestly, there is no way that she can be so mean and still be valedictorian without having made a deal with the devil at some point, because really) girl who has lived down the block from Flower forever and he likes her too??? Talbot is kind of a douche but also kind of a steady, loyal (super hot) guy and Flower just wants to show Talbo exactly how bendy and resilient hockey and skateboarding has made him

penny: (are we going for an f/m/m situation here because YES PLEASE) Vero has always been that girl-next-door and Flower's liked her forever, but she clearly likes his family more than she likes him because she's always teasing him. and he doesn't really know what to do about that? like what can he even say to Vero to get her not to be openly disdainful of his general existence. but he really wants her to like him! because she's beautiful and powerful and just the best girl. AND THEN Talbo COMES ALONG and Flower is super confused! because at first he just wants to fuck Talbo because that guy is wonderfully attractive, but then they start spending time together and Talbo's actually a decent guy? like decent in a way that Flower only ever though Vero could be? and there's no one he can talk to about all this because Sid's busy being all moony-eyes about the exchange kid and everyone else would either laugh at him or...well okay, or laugh at him. there's nothing else.

gemma: (oh yes. yes we are.) Vero is kind of evil in that she's nice to him, but Flower is never sure what kind of nice that is, because, again: s8rboi who does pot occasionally and valedictorian volunteers-with-homeless-kittens-on-her-free-days??? Vero is so out of his league but Flower wants and it's just kind of awful, okay? especially since she's always so nice and friendly and it could be construed as flirting if Flower was in the habit of lying to himself. which he isn't. (but then one day Vero kisses him at the skate park, where they went for his birthday. and it's amazing.) Talbo... well.

Talbo is pretty attractive (linebacker shoulders, Flower thinks,) and he's got a good soul and after a while, between hanging around after being assigned as project partners (because they never would have talked, really, if not for outside, academic interference) and tutoring, they somehow end up as friends?? but then... kind of... more than friends. and not brain-connection friends (although yeah, Flower's kind of tutoring Max through history because after years of Sid's rants, he's picked some stuff up and now he just gets the chronology) like Sid and whatever that Russian kid's name is, because he seems to have approximately 7 of them, but like ... mutual jerk off friends??? kind of??? Flower is very confused and hormonal but he's also kind of okay with just being fuckbuddies. he's chill like that. (the pot helps) (when Flower gets the munchies, he bakes.)

penny: Flower always heard that when girls tease you, it totally means they like you, and he would definitely call bullshit on that, except -- Vero. Vero teases him in the way that says 'you are an idiot but you might be my idiot,' and that kind of teasing gets even better after she kisses him, because then wow he can flirt back! and not feel like he's completely an idiot for liking her and wanting her! and he doesn't even have to lie to himself because why would she kiss him if she didn't like him? but for all that knowledge, he's still not sure they're actually something-- which makes it much easier to be jerk-off buddies with Talbo. because he doesn't feel like he's cheating on Vero or anything, and anyway, he and Talbo don't have a 'something.' they're just...convenient. they're there, and hell, they're both horny, and well...things just kind of happen. and by things, we mean handjobs.

(when Flower gets the munchies, he bakes, and then he gives whatever he bakes to Vero and Talbo and sometimes Sid, if Sid isn't being too crazy. which means that at some point, Vero and Talbot are walking down the hall (towards each other, but not for any reason) and notice that they're both holding tupperware containers full of food Flower made for them? and at first it's REALLY weird, and neither of them is really sure what to do. but it ends up being great, because they can commiserate about how dumb Flower is and [reallysuperhot] attractive he is, and how gone they both are for him. and somewhere in one of those conversations [which totally happen behind the school, and they sit there and nosh on Flower's food and make fun of him], they realize that they could both be doing him and they could both be happy and wow, how did they not realize this earlier????? and so begins a scheme, a mighty scheme, in which Talbo and Vero team up in their evilness to seduce Flower. together.

 

\----

The summer between junior and senior years, Marc-Andre Fleury goes on a perfunctory requisite college tour with his parents and sits through the hours of information sessions loose-limbed and easygoing, Mary Jane in his pocket. His parents don’t even bother trying to reprimand him anymore, just sigh those little we’re disappointed noises and Marc wants to sneer at them because it’s not like they ever pay attention to him when he isn’t screwing something up. The ten colleges and universities that he visits blur together into a haze of perky voices and artistically bullshitted powerpoint presentations and assurances that the academics are the hottest shit around. Marc hates it. The whole trip is a painfully awkward, boring affair and Marc collapses onto his bed the minute he gets home. Twenty minutes into his impromptu nap, his cell phone starts blaring the generic ringtone, a ridiculously upbeat jingle that slices straight through Marc's drowsing and snaps him awake. He groans, slapping his covers to figure out where he put his phone, and answer the call without looking at the screen.

"What," Marc groans.

"Are you home yet?" Sidney's voice comes through the phone, just a bit too loud for a phone call. He always speaks a bit too loudly on the phone as though he needs to compensate for not being there directly.

"Oui," Marc says, not bothering to lift his head. "I'm in my room. What's up?"

"Come over," Sid says, and then he hangs up. Marc looks at his phone incredulously.

"He's got to be shitting me," he mutters, and buries his head back into his nice, soft pillow.

 

Ten minutes later his phone buzzes with a text message: Come over! Important!

Sid's always been the kind of guy to use capital letters and correct punctuation in his text messages.

Marc drags himself out of bed. If Sid's resorted to texting, it's probably something Marc would want to see. If he leaves the house now and takes his skateboard, he can get there in fifteen minutes.

When Marc gets to Sid's house, he shoulders the door open and drops his board in the front hall. He calls a hello to Mrs. Crosby, but goes straight down to the basement. Sid's got his room and the rec room down in the basement, and it's honestly the best set-up Flower can think of. When he gets down to the basement, there's a low murmur of voices.

Marc can't think of anyone who would be over at Sid's house, normally, especially not outside of the hockey season. He shrugs and continues down the hall.

"Sid!" he calls as he gets to the door of Sid's room.

"Flower?" Sid pokes his head out. Seeing Marc, he comes over and they bro-hug. "How was your summer?"

Marc rolls his eyes. "Boring. What's up?"

Sid shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. "Um."

He walks back into his room, and Marc follows him. There's another person sitting on the floor in Sid's room, leaning over a thick volume (probably history, Marc thinks.)

He's lanky, but there's no doubt he's built, and he's got glasses that keep sliding down his nose.

Marc turns to Sid. "What?"

Sid shrugs uncomfortably. "This is Evgeni. Um...he's an exchange student. He's here for the year. From Russia. And, um, he'll be trying out for the team?"

Marc ignores the guy's name, because...there's no way he's going to get that right, ever. The guy looks up when he hears Sid talk, and smiles at the two of them.

"Nice to meet," he says in a thickly accented voice.

"You too," Marc says easily. More guys trying out for the team is never a bad thing.

"Marc plays hockey, too," Sid says to the Russian. "He's our best goalie." The guy nods.

"So how were the schools you saw?" Sid asks Marc, motioning for him to sit down on the bed. Marc shrugs self-consciously. "Not that exciting."

Sid shakes his head. "Come on, none that you liked?"

Marc shakes his head. This is not a cheerful conversation to be having, even with Sid -- the reminder that he's not going to get into any good schools stings a bit, another bullet point on the list of things he's failed at. Especially compared to Sid, who somehow manages to wear the C on the hockey team and still get straight A's in school. To Marc, it's just another thing to worry about screwing up.

"What position are you," he asks the guy instead, sparking off a few hours of conversation about hockey, because once Sid gets going he doesn't really stop. The Russian plays center, and he had been in town for a week, and Sid had already played with him and thought that he was great, which meant that Flower would be staring at this guy's number for the rest of the season. And apparently the two of them have bonded over a shared love of not only hockey, but history as well, so Marc settles in as the two of them wax lyrical about Nicholas I, who he'd probably learn about in Euro History.

It's not a bad way to spend the afternoon, and Sid feeds him, which is always a plus. He's still a bit melancholy when he says his goodbyes and pushes off towards his house. The trip's about a mile and a half away, flat, half an hour if he isn't in a rush.

Marc's glad that Sid has a new friend, because even though Sid is the captain of the varsity/travel hockey team plus in the top ten percent of the grade academically and always polite, he's kind of really shitty at making friends. Sid basically hangs out with his team and his little sister, and that's just sad.

Marc's comfortable with his varied groups of friends--the hockey team, the people he gets high with sometimes, the guys from the skate park. He's not popular by any means, and he doubts that that will change this coming school year, but he's never been an outcast. He's even kind of got an in with the popular crowd.

Veronique LaRosee has lived three doors down from him his entire life, and they've been in the same school since pre-k. Their parents are friends and thus Marc and Vero are ... uh. Acquaintances? They've always been friendly, and were super close for most of elementary and half of middle school. Then eighth grade hit, and they drifted apart, but they see each other every week or so out of school, and Marc always says hi. Vero always says hi back, smiling. Veronique is tall and slender with a gorgeous face and high cheekbones and a sunny smile and kind eyes. She's kept at least a 4.0 average throughout her entire academic career, she volunteers every week at the local soup kitchen and works at the local animal shelter rehabilitating and re-socializing abandoned cats and dogs. She's been the class president for five years running, and she's way too good for Marc, who's had a completely hopeless crush on her since the summer after freshman year.

At least, that's what Marc has been telling himself for the past close-to-four years, now. Except that Vero and her parents had come over for dinner, a couple days before the Fleury family had embarked on their college visit extravaganza, and...it was weird. He and Vero had hung out, as always, sneaking out of the dining room to sit on the porch, discussing their summer plans (Vero's, of course, being incredibly productive, and Marc's...not). It had been a normal night until they were laughing too hard at a stupid joke, and Vero had leaned a bit too far and toppled over onto Marc's shoulder. She had stared up at Marc, and he had stared down at her, and, fuck, three years of liking her from afar was too long, so he had kissed her.

And she had kissed him back.

And they had made out, for a while, until one of them heard Marc's mom walking down the hall to get them.

But that was over a month ago, and school is going to start in a few weeks, and Marc doesn't really have any illusions about where he and Vero stand. They haven't really talked all summer, and Vero's...she's out of his league. She's incredible, and competent, and actually accomplishes things, and Marc is just the opposite. Being around her is fun, and he doubts his 'crush' will go away any time soon, but...she has school to focus on. She has a future she needs to work for, one she's been focused on since they started grade school. He's just kind of wandering around, trying to figure things out.

So yeah, Marc knows where he stands with Veronique LaRosee. His phone buzzes from where left it on his bed after he got back from Sid's house. He glances at it, noticing he's got a bunch of unread messages.

The first is from Sid, and, unsurprisingly, it's about hockey -- reminding the team that tryouts are in a week and a half, and that they better work their asses off this year. The other message is a text from Vero, which in and of itself is surprising -- they don't often text each other. 'Heard you got back from college visits. Want to hang out before school starts up again?' It's not hugely shocking that she's reaching out to him, but it's enough of a surprise that he sits back on his heels, thinking about it before responding.

'Sure. You busy tomorrow?'

'Work until 4,' her response reads. Another message pops up a minute later. 'We could go to the old playground?'

'The old playground' is an area that's fallen out of use, its equipment breaking and parents no longer trusting it to hold their children. When Marc and Vero were younger, they used to play there; now, it's mainly used by teenagers in the neighbourhood who want a quiet space to talk, or, more accurately, a safe place to smoke or hook up.

Before he can really think about it or regret it, Marc's responding 'sure' and shutting off his phone. Vero probably just wants to catch up on the colleges he visited, maybe report them back to her parents. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Marc's not going to get any sleep keyed up as he is, so he makes his way downstairs, grabs his board, and goes to the skate park. If his parents really need him, they'll call. (they won't need him.)

At least skating will get his mind off of everything else he's had to deal with today -- college, Sid, Vero. All of it. This is why he skates, why he plays hockey, why he does pot -- to get away from the rest of his life. He spends a few minutes just skating up and down the pipes, enjoying the swoop of his stomach on the downturn and the satisfying sound of wheels rolling smoothly under his feet as he glides. It's just dissimilar enough to skating that he still needs to concentrate, but the feeling of flying is the same. There are a few other guys at the park but he only knows one of them.

Kris Letang bounces between schools like they're going out of style because the foster system fucks with him, but he was friendly with Marc for the half-year he went to (insert high school name here) freshman year and the first and last semesters they shared sophomore year. He's got a great dealer, and they're close enough friends that they call each other up sometimes to hang out. Kris nods at him, coasting over.

"allo," he says amicably, and Marc smiles at him.

"Salut," Marc says, and they start catching up in French, the rolling syllables stuttering a bit as they both readjust after weeks of nothing but English. They roll up and down the park, lapping it mindlessly. By mutual assurance, their discussion stays firmly away from any academic topics, focusing on sports teams they both pay attention to. After a while, Marc sticks his hands in his hoodie pockets, fingers the soft baggie inside, and looks significantly at Kris, who catches on immediately. They shrug at each other, and leave to go light up.

\---

Marc wakes up at 1 pm the next day, feeling like something died in his mouth, eyes crusty and feeling super groggy. He's got hazy memories of wandering the streets until 2 am with Kris, and there's a tray of cookies in his line of sigh, a sure sign he got the munchies. He needs to piss like a racehorse and also to brush his teeth immediately.

 _Weed hangover :(_ , he texts Kris, who doesn't answer. He staggers to his bathroom to force himself awake with a shower and minty fresh toothpaste.

Marc spends the hours before he's supposed to meet up with Vero doing his laundry and throwing a tennis ball around, testing his reflexes in preparation for the hockey practices that are looming around the corner. He bounces a little, as he walks over to the park, because it's the first time he's seen Vero since they made out that one time, and he's excited and nervous, even as he tells himself not to get weird about it.

Vero shows up after him, flushed and beautiful, and Marc instantly remembers what her mouth felt like against his. He can feel his dick stirring, interested, and promptly turns pink. Veronique smiles at him, and asks about his college visits. Marc fumbles through a few stock responses--yeah, it was okay, they were all pretty cool, he'd see when he started to apply places,--and the requisite questions of his own --how were your visits? know where you want to go? what are you taking this year?-- never quite able to get the echo of how Vero's voice hitched when he licked her neck out of his mind. The college and school discussion ends pretty quickly, and they sit in a kind of sexually charged (on Marc's end, at least) silence for a few minutes. He's about to man up and ask her about it, when Vero glances around quickly before leaning in and kissing him again.

Marc blinks in surprise, the soft pressure of her lips against his not what he was expecting, but he slants his head obligingly, letting her deepen the kiss. They break apart slowly, Vero's eyes intent on his face, both of them flushed. Marc's boner is back.

"Is..is this okay?" Vero asks worriedly, and Marc nods dumbly. He's okay with a random hookup, he really is, especially with Vero, and they make out again. When they break apart again, Marc's smiling a small pleased smile, and Vero looks very pleased with herself, and also slightly disbelieving, like she didn't actually expect him to kiss back. They don't have sex that time, or the time after, or the time after that, but they fool around a lot. Marc doesn't think that Vero's a virgin, but he also doesn't exactly talk about this stuff with her so he wouldn't know.

Marc's not inexperienced, but he's never had intercourse that's gone beyond oral before, either.

During the month and a half before school starts again, Marc spends his time split between Kris and Vero. He hangs out with Sid and his exchange student sometimes, but the two of them have done some intense bonding over hockey and history, and Marc can only really keep up with the hockey part of it. With Kris, they skate and watch movies and eat ridiculous amounts of food. And with Vero, sometimes Marc gets shanghaied into cleaning out the animal cages at her shelter, and sometimes they fool around. Marc's as reverent as he knows how to be, when it becomes obvious that kissing is going to go a bit further and is going to do so fairly often.

It's .. it's pretty great. It's a great summer vacation, really. Everything that Marc could want. That doesn't mean that the first day of school doesn't end it, though.

\---

School starts up again, and it's as much of a drag as Marc's expecting. Classes are pretty boring, as a general rule. Counsellors start harping on the students about applying to universities. Marc starts getting back in shape for hockey. Everything's pretty normal.

The most exciting thing that happens to Marc happens on a sunny October Wednesday. The football coach, who Marc has absolutely no reason to talk to, approaches Marc after school one day, and asks Marc how he is at tutoring.

"Um...I've never done it before?" Marc responds, confused. The coach sighs.

"You know Max Talbot?"

Marc nods. Max is in his year, a star cornerback on the school's football team. That means everybody knows Max Talbot.

"He's not doing so well in school. Or, he wasn't last year, and he doesn't seem to have improved this year," the coach continues. "We need him to do well; if he doesn't, he's off the team, and the team needs him. You're in a lot of the same level classes as him, and you understand the sports side of this too. Do you think you could help us out?"

Marc stares at him, still confused. "Help by...?"

"Tutoring him. Helping him out, at least until his grades pick up," the coach says.

Marc hesitates for a moment. But, after all, it's not like he has anything better to do, and it'll look good for community service hours. His counselor is always harping on about those.

"Sure," he says.

"Thank you," the coach says. "Here's his email." He hands Marc a slip of paper. "I told him you might be in contact with him soon. So...yep. Thank you for this, Fleury, our team and season are going to be very grateful you're doing this."

Marc just barely avoids wincing at the way the coach mangles his surname, and nods. He gets in touch with Talbot and sets up a first meeting -- they're going to meet up in the public library and work there, at least for this first meeting. Marc shows up early, and he's sitting at a table tooling around on his phone when someone comes over to him.

"Marc-Andre, right?" Marc looks up. Max Talbot is standing next to the table, holding a pile of books in his hands. He's tall, though not taller than Marc, and he''s decently attractive, and he looks a bit nervous to be here.

"Just Marc is fine," Marc responds. "Or Flower, that's what my teammates call me. Have a seat." He motions to the free chair next to him. "So what do you actually need help with?"

\----

So Marc's life changes a bit. He spends more and more time with Talbo, especially once they're paired together for an Earth Science project. They work together every few days after school, whether it's tutoring, working on the project, or just working in silence on different things. Marc spends less and less time with Vero -- she's busy, now, now that school has started and her volunteer job has picked up again. He trains for the beginning of hockey season, Sid pushing him to train as hard as he can.

Nothing is not hugely different until later on, around November.

Marc and Max are sitting on Marc's bed, doing different bits of homework. Marc's absorbed in this book he's reading for English class, but he looks up when Max sighs heavily and flops down, mashing his face into the pillow next to Marc's elbow.

"What's up?" Marc asks.

"I'm booooored," Max mumbles in a whine. "I don't want to read this history thing."

"Oh, boo hoo hoo," Marc says, rolling his eyes. "Too bad. You want football, you read the thing."

"We should make out," Max says, still muffled by the pillow. Marc just hums, not really listening.

"Marc?"

"What?" Marc says, looking away from his book again.

"I said, we should make out."

"....What?" Marc says again. This time, it's a bit less annoyed, and more confused.

"You. Me. Lips. We should," Max says, exasperatedly.

"Wh....?" Max sits up.

"I'm hot. You're hot. I'm bored. You should be bored. Making out is not boring. Making out with a hot person is definitely not boring. Therefore, we should."

Marc stays silent. Because yeah, he's noticed that Max is hot. Anyone with eyes can see that Max is hot.

But, a) they're supposed to be working, and b) Marc's years-long crush on Vero hasn't gone away just because Marc never sees her anymore.

"Fiiiine," Max says, flailing around for his history textbook.

"No, wait --" Marc says. Max immediately looks up at him.

"Let's make out?" he says hopefully.

"Sure, yeah. For a while. At least. And then we really should work on that---" He's cut off by Max, who sits up and kisses him happily.

And it's -- it's good, it's really good. It's lighthearted, and it's fun. And it keeps happening, whenever they study together somewhere private. They'll work for a while, and then they'll make out for a while, and it's easy and it's great. Marc has no delusions about this -- he knows it's just for fun, just careless hooking up to let out tension, but he's enjoying it.

Marc isn't oblivious to the grade dramas--it's senior year and people are busy deciding their futures. A bunch of people he knows are applying to colleges and universities in the States, some for the hockey programs, some for the academics. A few are planning on going to the army. Some people are going to technical schools. Marc would probably do that--work at a bakery or something--if his parents wouldn't kill him.

All the sports teams have a healthy number of seniors that are really intense about winning championships for their last season, or whatever. Max appears to spend his time split between practice, sleeping, eating, and doing schoolwork. He works really hard at school, spends more time studying that Marc thinks he's ever done in his entire life (and makes him feel guilty about it), but Max has some problems balancing football with homework, which leads to lower grades.

They both have after-school practices, and after practice they're both pretty hungry, which means that they end up meeting up for studying either after dinner, or on the weekends.

Weekends are the best, Marc thinks, because they sometimes do more than make out. Max initiated it the first time, casually offering to help Marc out with his hard-on, and from then on it was a breathless, furtive, addition to their study sessions. Jerk-off buddies, as it were. Lending a hand. It's kind of ridiculously great.

When he has too many feelings about it, he lights up with Kris, and lazily (and secretly, because if Sid caught wind of exactly how much cookie dough he was eating he'd be so screwed) makes batches and batches of cookies.

Flower gets the munchies, and Kris has reliably informed him that he is the only person in the entire world who actually bakes when he has the munchies, instead of buying snacks and plowing through them. Like everyone else.

Whatever, Flower's got mad baking skills, and Kris is just jealous that he doesn't go to school with Flower anymore, and therefore can't receive giant tupperware containers full of brownies or whatever Flower had wanted the night before. Talbo gets brownies though, even if he makes noises about his training regime as he wolfs his third one that evening. Vero gets peanut butter with butterscotch chip cookies, thick and gooey and delicious, and he gives her two because she still has some problems with high-fat and high-sugar foods, even if she knows intellectually that indulgence a few times a month is okay, and even if she knows that they were made with love.

Platonic love.

Friendly, happy, boy-next-door love.

Obviously.

Evni the Russian (why couldn't that boy have a normal name that Flower could pronounce? Why couldn't Sid's exchange student have been from Quebec?) and Sid get the rest of the batch. Sid makes noises about diet and exercise and conditioning, but his lanky Russian buddy grins around a mouthful of cookie and thanks him enthusiastically, so.

School's gotten into full swing, and Marc drops by Max's locker before lunch period on Tuesday--he's got a travel game coming up and he wants to compare their sports schedules for their sessions. Except then he looks up, and sees Vero and Max walking down the hallway, Max towering over Vero but clearly listening to her intently.

And--it wouldn't be anything weird, at all, is the thing. Max and Vero orbit around each other a lot what with their similar levels of high-school popularity; they run in the same circles, kind of.

But Marc knows exactly how his name looks like on both of their lips, and Max definitely just said something about "Marc-Andre", and like, come on. There's only one Marc-Andre in the entire school. They're talking about him, and Marc is instantly suspicious. Vero splits off with an absent, elegant wave of a hand, and Max arrives at his locker, smiling bemusedly at Marc.

"Hey," he says, "were we supposed to meet? Did you text me?" He opens his locker and dumps his stuff in. Marc's kind of amazed at the sheer disarray crammed into that space.

"Non, non," Marc says, blinking back to himself. "Non, sorry, I just wanted to see if you had a copy of your game schedule handy? I have a game coming up, is all--"

"And you want to compare our schedules," Max nods, rifling through messy stacks of paper expertly. Marc's attention is just wandering to the lunch menu when Max makes a triumphant noise and he hands Marc a mostly-clean, awkwardly-creased printout of the football team's game schedule.

"Thanks," Marc says awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. He wants to ask, but he also doesn't want to come off like a creep. It's not like they were doing anything official, after all. And it had only been like... a month.

"Great!" Max says, oblivious to Marc's dilemma, "See you tomorrow? We have that quiz, don't forget!"

"I--yeah," Marc says lamely. "See you then.

\---

 **gemma** : Marc has no idea why suddenly Talbo and Vero seem to know each other because they share absolutely no classes or lunch periods or even teachers and it's kind of creeping him out, because he keeps seeing them strolling down the hallway together, or stopped by each other's lockers, and-- and suddenly both of them seem to have less time to spend with him, and yeah, he never had a monopoly on their time, of course, and they had never really discussed their relationship (either of them. Flower hadn't talked with Max or with Vero, had just kind of accepted that they were suddenly kissing friends now)

But it's kind of.. weird?? and surprising?? and also kind of hurtful??? because as far as Flower knows, he hadn't done anything and also _how did they know each other_

But Max starts to blow him off with, like, practice and homework, and Vero just kind of slides back to her 'too perfect for you' attitude and Marc is just... ;_; and ?_?, but mostly ;_; and eventually (after increasingly dangerous nights skating alone in skate parks that he definitely did not illegally break in to, definitely not) (and also after lots and lots of pot) (and lots of baked goods that Flower offers up hopefully but as he keeps getting, and there's no other way to say it, but let down gently, Flower's last few batches end up either burned and in the trash or shoved unceremoniously at Sids face

Geno takes most of them though, because Sid is kind of a health freak and feels weird if he eats more than three. It's all because of the black plague.) (but anyway, the point is that Flower's baked goods end up either ruined or with Geno.)

Eventually, but mostly because Flower accidentally overhears the football coach yelling that Max better get up his grades, or else he was getting an academic suspension from the football team, Flower decides that he's gonna be the bigger person and stop sulking even if his heart kind of aches when he looks at Max and Vero walking down the hall together or sitting behind the school together

(They're not even subtle and it makes Flower take his board out for hours, aggressively trying to halfpipe until his mother makes him come in and do yoga so that the next time he has to butterfly in the net he won't break himself in half)

So he corners Talbot and orders him to the library that weekend so that Flower could force him to study for the monster history exam that was coming up [insert dialogue indicating such here]

 **penny** : because let's be real here, Flower definitely thinks Max and Vero are together. and like, that hurts! a lot! because he thought...well, he's not sure exactly what he thought, but he and Vero and he and Max each definitely had things going on. and now...what? (and they're totally not going out, is the best part. they've thought about it, hell, they've even tried it, but they both agree making out isn't as fun for them if Flower's not there too. which is why they redouble their efforts to plan to seduce him.)

Talbot's a bit hesitant at first to come study, he's not sure where he and Flower stand, but Flower's got that look on his face that Max only ever sees when Flower's guarding the goal in a shootout against a really good shooter, all determined and trying not to show that he's a bit nervous. so Max says yes. and they're in the library, and Flower's not really being himself. usually when they study, Flower will be all fun and flirty, fidgeting and teasing Max and just generally having fun? but today, he's not himself at all. he's quiet, and he stays on task, and Max will catch Flower almost glaring at him sometimes.

but when Max asks what's wrong, he gets a curt 'nothing.' [because if Max doesn't know, or doesn't care, Flower isn't going to give him the benefit of knowing Max has gotten to him, in a way Flower never would have expected.] and then, Max drops some offhand comment about Vero -- nothing odd, just something about what a nice person she is, or how smart she is -- and everything falls apart.

Flower slams his book shut (and gets an angry hiss from a librarian) and walks out. because what the fuck, Max? it's not okay! and yeah, okay, Marc can be angry at more than one person here, and he can definitely be angry at himself, because he could have talked to either of them -- but he's just so angry! at everyone, and he really is at a loss for what to do at this point.

because Vero hasn't talked to him beyond usual niceties in days, and Max, well, Max probably doesn't know what he's done, and come to think of it Flower doesn't know either, but he's hurt, okay? and so he goes to the skate park where he and Vero kissed for the first time, because...because he likes to torture himself, and because also, it's a good place to go if he doesn't want to think.

 **gemma** : (the thing that Flower doesn't know is that Max and Vero have noticed that he is coming to class with late, slinking to the back with reddened eyes, that they haven't been offered cookies or brownies or whatever for weeks now, and that three days ago Max had seen geno munching away on some peanut butter chocolate chip cookies out of one of Flower's tupperware containers)

Max is kind of bewildered by the whole 'storming out of the library' thing, especially since Flower was the one who made him show up, what the fuck, but he also knows that if his and Vero's master plan of 'beautiful hotass threesome sex' is going to work, he needs to fix whatever he obviously fucked up with the goalie. except he doesn't really know how to do that.

so Max goes back to Vero, and they plot some more, and as they're talking and refining their plans, they kind of get around to realizing that oh. Flower's mad at them. like, really mad at them. but they don't know _why_ and it's very distressing for both Max and Vero because they just want Flower to be happy. with them. naked. with orgasms.

but mostly they want him to be happy, even if the whole threesome idea doesn't work out (but they're pretty certain that it'll work out).

(Max also studies for the history test on his own, remembering bits and pieces of timelines that Flower had drilled him on, repetitious and boring and also hellishly difficult, like bag skating suicides _but for his brain_ and he gets a fucking b on that exam, boom! what! take that Mr. White!) buuut while Max and Vero are doing their thing, Flower just gets more and more wound up, retreating into his brain and his misery, getting quieter and sadder and angrier than he thinks he's ever been in his life.

(because even if he decided to be the bigger person, being a bigger person is hard, okay?!?) (and Flower has feelings. sad ones. lots of them.)

he stays in the skatepark through the night a lot of times now, sneaking back into his room through the window at one am, three am, five am. he rollerskates, sometimes, and he brings his skateboard and he runs through the course again and again, until his lungs are burning and the back of his throat feels like sandpaper and sweat makes his hair curl at the nape of his neck. he lights up a lot more than he used to, too.

he knows that he's fucking himself up, he knows he needs to stop, to talk to someone, but he's just so caught up in this, this mindless anger- at the world, for everything; at Vero, for nothing; at Max, for something; at Vero and Max, for reasons that Marc refuses to acknowledge; at his parents for not asking more questions about where he is at night or why he always looks so tired, at himself for being such a wreck over nothing (because they were nothing. they were never anything and Marc is nothing and both Max and Vero are just so above him, are so obviously made for better things than him)

and he is

just

so

done.

(Marc kind of blanks out of the next few days. he doesn't go to class. he doesn't go home. he sleeps in the library, in community centers. he doesn't remember what he ate. he could go home. he doesn't.) (he goes back to class on the 17th. a wednesday. he's got a lot of work to do and he buries himself in that. his parents don't even ask where he'd been. )

until eventually

(two weeks after the history exam, a week and a half after hearing that Max was lifted from academic probation and could continue playing for the football team, six weeks after realizing that both Max and Vero were shutting him down and out, five weeks and three days after his fourth batch of baked goods got rejected with soft words, five weeks and two days after Flower first started breaking into the skate park at night, not that he's counting or anything)

he sits down at lunch with Sid and yevi? geni? Sid's Russian exchange student and Sid looks up from his disturbingly thick text on the Russian revolution, notes in the exchange student's careful english penned in the margins, and frowns.

you're too tense, Sid announces, and kind of glares at Flower like he's trying to will his goalie to relax by the force of his lazer eyes. it doesn't work, no surprise there, and Flower just hunches his shoulders a bit more, blinking his dry eyes grimly behind his glasses and chews his burger with a vengeance.

what wrong? asks Yevi, who is considerably better at doing the social than Sid. and Flower kind of grits out nothing and it's pretty obvious that neither Sid nor Geni believe him, and Flower's chest just aches even more with another example of one of his friends leaving him, bonding with someone else, and Flower just can't anymore, he can't he chokes down his lunch and the conversation, the rant that he wants to spill from his chest.

and he leaves.

 **penny** : and he doesn't go back to class. he doesn't even go to the skate park -- he's been there enough in the past few days, he can't take it anymore. so he goes to the rink, instead. he doesn't get on the ice, because first of all, he doesn't have his gear, but more importantly, he's way too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to even think about being steady on skates. he just...sits on the bench. and sits. and waits for his life to turn around. and he just...doesn't know anymore. he's burned out, from everything he's been doing, from his friends not caring, and he doesn't know what to do anymore. because he never had a chance with Vero, or with Max.

Vero never liked him that much anyway, did she? and Max was just Max: someone who was there. not someone who cared.

so he just sits on the bench, knees up in front of him, back against the wall, and stares at the expanse of ice in front of him, trying not to think at all. maybe that will make it easier to forget that any of this happened.

meanwhile, Vero and Max are sitting with each other, trying to figure out where the hell everything went wrong. and to be honest? they're both pretty lost. there was a golden period of time when both of them were so happy with Flower, when they both had him and he was his normal self. and now? neither of them have him, and it's killing them. and then, as they sit in silence under the bleachers of the football field, trying to mend something they didn't know was broken, Vero speaks up. and she tells Max that Marc's been sneaking out at night.

(how could she not have noticed? she's always up late anyway, studying and finishing up various speeches and working on posters for the animal shelter's adoption drive. and Marc's been her friend forever. she doesn't know where they went wrong.)

she tells Max that Flower's been away, a lot. that his bedroom light is never on anymore. that she's worried. and then Max starts to worry. because Vero's noticed something, and Max is pretty sure he's gotten a few glares from that Crosby kid and his exchange student earlier today, in French class. isn't Crosby friends with Marc? so for the first time, Max voices that worry to Vero, and he hears it echoed completely.

and then they both realize, they've really fucked up. because they haven't been quietly seducing Flower this whole time. they haven't even been building up to that. they've been letting him go, even if they wanted the opposite.

he's always been so fun to be around, Vero says. he's never been the quiet type, he says what he wants. where did we fuck that up? and they realize, maybe it's time for a change of tactic. maybe it's time to dispense with tactics, altogether. maybe they have to pull a Marc-Andre Fleury and just fucking say what they want. stop hiding it, the way he's been hiding from both of them the past week. stop conspiring about him, and start conspiring with him.

 **gemma** : Marc ends up sitting at the rink for a lot longer than he thought, just... thinking about how stupid he was. about how, obviously, neither Vero or Max would have ever actually been a thing with him. how he was obviously clinging to something that just wasn't there, and had probably never been there. despite having a shadow of that awareness for the past month and a half, telling himself that didn't hurt any less.

there wasn't any practice that day, which was good, because with the mood that Flower was in he'd probably have ended up just sitting in his crease pathetically, not even trying to block the shots coming at him. and the rink was surprisingly empty, so he got to sit up in the stands (the cheap metal of the outdoor rink stands still better than the blocks of plastic that he should prooobably be sitting on, except that he's kind of the sort of black mood that makes him want to punish himself for no particular reason. like a challenge. just to say that he can do it.)-

he got to sit up in the stands and just stare out over the ice blankly. he's in the corner, high up, scrunched into a tiny, miserable little ball, when his breathing starts getting both more shallow and deeper--short, hitching breaths in turned to quiet breaths out, forcing the inhalation out, deflating his chest. Marc breathes like that for a while, feeling like he's cleansing himself, purging his, his soul from the anger and hurt and loneliness that he's been carrying around. he doesn't realize he's crying until he blinks and his lashes come up wet.

there's a soft, hurt noise that comes from next to him, and Marc nearly kills himself flailing to see who it is, roughly wiping away the traitorous moisture from his face, hoping that his face doesn't look at stupid as it usually does when he cries (his cheeks get blotchy with uneven colours and his nose turns red, and Marc is just glad that he doesn't drip snot everywhere like some people do)--

and he sees Sid.

of course it's Sid.

of course Sidney Crosby, when not working out or doing homework or skating or practicing skating (or hanging out with Yevni, Marc thinks) or whatever, of _course_ he goes to the rink to stare longingly at the ice.

because Sid.

of course.

Flower almost wants to crack a bad joke about it, but he can't seem to move his mouth, frozen. he hadn't even realized that Sid was at the rink. Marc stares at Sid for a few seconds, feeling trapped and cornered, feeling the panic and anxiety cresting again, about to try reaching for the newly-familiar blanket of anger and hurt to wrap himself in, when Sid's expression crumples as well, and-- Sid's crying too.

Sid's crying and he looks so guilty and Sid scoots towards Flower and grabs his friend up in a giant bear hug, pushing his (cold!!) nose into the crook of Marc's neck and sniffling quietly Marc's hands are trapped in this position, and he's kind of dragged/slumped into Sid's embrace, his own face tucked into Sidney's shoulder and-- he feels warmer than he has in weeks, Sid's long arms squeezing him reassuringly, letting Marc know that _i didn't forget you_ and _i'm here for you_ and Flower may or may not fall apart completely here, hiccuping (only slightly hysterically, fuck you very much) into Sid's shirt and gasping for air through his emotions.

Sid stays throughout it all, all thirty minutes plus of Marc-Andre Fleury, all around fuck up, crying into him, despite how uncomfortable he must have been and proving once and for all that Sidney Crosby is a solid guy to have at your back because he'd do this kind of thing for you. Marc, once he surfaces from the weird, hazy headspace that he had been in before his minor breakdown, takes a moment to appreciate what a genuinely good guy Sidney is. even if he is kind of a shit friend, he's pretty goddamn clutch.

Sidney can like, sense when Flower's done with his crying jag, and rubs Flower's back uncertainly, like it was something that he had seen and witnessed but had never had to do.

Marc just leans into his friend, tired and worn out. exhausted and empty, like his wordless tears had punctured a hole in a bucket of 'bad feelings' that Marc had been carrying around and now it was just- done. it's relieving.

 **penny** : and Sid -- Sid's usually not the selfless one, the one who seeks people out because he knows they need emotional assistance, but just this once, he really wants to focus on someone else's problems. not his own. he wants to help Marc, okay, he's known Marc forever and he always thought Marc was a pretty 'together' guy, but 'together' guys don't break down like that, and just this once, Sid wants -- Sid needs -- to help someone else. so he asks the question Flower didn't know he was dreading to hear.

"What's wrong?"

and Flower pauses. because how do you explain to one of your best friends that you're in love with two different people, that you wanted to mean something to both of them, and that now that they're both gone, you're lost and drowning?

but Sid sits there, waiting for Flower to think it through, one hand still resting on Flower's back as if it's anchoring him to the ground, or to reality, or to some kind of calm, because somehow the calm headspacey feeling refuses to subside. Marc tries to tell it to go away, tries to tell himself that this is definitely grounds for panicking, but nothing works, and he's still oddly calm.

so he just...talks. he sits there on the ground of the bleachers, Sidney Crosby's comforting hand resting on his back, and Marc lets the floodgates open, in a less literal sense this time. he starts with Vero, starts with "when we were young" and tells Sid all the way through "and now she won't talk to me."

and then he rewinds, tells Sid about all of the Marc spent with Max, all the wasted hours. and when he finds his way back to "and now he won't talk to me," Marc stops.

he's hoarse, he's been talking for ages, and he has no idea what time it is. Sid's still next to him, still sitting on the uncomfortable ground (and Marc takes a moment to recognize the fact that Sid has homework, Sid has hockey, Sid has Yevni, but Sid's still here, someone finally decided to stay because Marc was worth their time) and somehow, Marc feels lighter. lighter like he hasn't in weeks, like somehow there's been a weight lifted from his shoulders, like a curtain's been pulled and there's a glimmer of a light at the end of a tunnel.

meanwhile, back at the ranch, or more likely Vero's house, Max and Vero are trying to figure out how to fix this crazy mess they've found themselves in. they've equipped themselves with pens and paper. Max seems to be drawing battle plans, complete with little soldiers. Vero throws a piece of paper at him. and then she thinks of it, an idea better than any they've had so far. and she tells Max. what if they just went about doing the things Marc thoughtlessly, effortlessly, selflessly did for them?

Max raises an eyebrow. "So basically," he says, "You're saying we should woo him."

 **gemma** : "well yes," Vero says, arching an elegant eyebrow, ignoring how they're lying flat on the floor, "except with less pot," she adds, because she isn't stupid, she knows that Marc only bakes when he's high (which is a damned shame because his brownies are a thing of magnificence and his sugar-white-chocolate-macadamia cookies are something that she has repeatedly sworn she would kill for).

"Less pot and more feelings," Max says skeptically.

it sounds kind of stupid when he puts it like that, but Vero ignores him. Max is a very sweet boy deep down, but Vero knows all and the sooner she gets Max trained to realize that, the better. Vero can already tell that the three of them could be forever.

"less pot and more feelings," Veronique repeats firmly.

If they managed to --not get Marc back, because they had never really had him officially in the first place (which was just really very frustrating for all concerned)--get Marc at all, even if just to talk to him, just to explain?? Vero would force herself to be content with just having Marc as a friend (a very good, sometimes-orgasm friend type friend, maybe) if Marc didn't want to have anything else to do with them. she wouldn't be happy about it, no. but friends was better than nothing and they had already hurt him.

they also needed to communicate more, Vero thought, writing it down on her neatly organized "to do" list, the one with long term reminders, in neat, bubbly cursive. Max rolls over, pressed against her side, hooking his chin over her shoulder to look at what she's writing.

"did you actually just write that down," Max asks, and Vero plants a dainty hand in his face and shoves him off.

"would you like to make a contribution to this discussion, Mr. Talbot?" Vero asks severely in her best imitation of their principle, and Max snorts out a laugh, flat on his back and scratching his belly.

"Yeah actually," Max says, and he draws a quick sketch on his own pad. Vero glances over, confused.

"I can't tell if those are badly drawn tactical evasion maneuvers," she says at last, after tilting her head several ways, "or an arrow doodle that went horribly awry."

Max rolls his eyes back at her, tapping at some circles authoritatively. "look," he says reasonably, "Flower likes a bunch of things, right?"

Vero raises an eyebrow, less than impressed. Max continues outlining his plan, like he hadn't even seen Vero's silent judgement.

"he likes hockey and baking and pot and skateboarding, right?" he asks

"he also likes us," Vero puts in. she hesitates. "i'm pretty sure he still likes us."

"Of course he still likes us!!!" Max yelps, suddenly kind of terrified that maybe Flower didn't???

"and he likes Sid," Vero continues, steamrollering the linebacker, "and he likes steak and potatoes and he also likes baseball caps. although maybe just the one that he always uses? I'm not sure; they all look more or less the same to me. black, with a bill, eh."

"anyway," Max says pointedly, "eliminating--"he takes a second to think--"pot, us, and baseball caps and also baking and skateboarding, i think we have a pretty good plan in the works here."

"what," says Vero, still not very impressed. Max rolls his eyes, again, Vero is honestly very surprised that his eyes are still in his skull after rolling them approximately every fifth word.

"these are hockey plays, Vero," he says and Vero's mouth makes a little o of surprise.

 **penny** : "so...you want to give him...hockey?" Vero asks. Max nods happily. because he knows hockey's what make Marc happy, really and truly happy. and more than that, it’s something he can take pride in. Marc hasn’t had a lot of things to be proud of lately, and they want to see him happy again, self-assured and confident like they know he can be.

"we could definitely find enough people to put together a pick up game at the rink," Max says, casually, like he had already asked some people. He’s so unsubtle it’s almost painful, but Vero loves that about him all the same.

and Vero thinks about it, and it's true, Flower loves hockey, and he’s _good_ at it.

"What if we do that, _and_ get him a new skateboard?" she says to Talbo. "or will that be too much like bribery?"

Max thinks it over. "if we do the game first," he says, "we can get him at least back to talking to us. Build up to a new board, you know?"

"but not for too long," Vero says quickly, because this whole thing has already dragged on for too long, and if she's honest with herself (and with Talbo, because he's always around now) she misses Flower. a lot. and not just in an orgasms way. in a real, I-didn't-realize-how-much-I-needed-you-until-you-were-gone way. so this whole plan can't, or shouldn't, need to take more than a week.

Max agrees with that immediately. and the atmosphere in the room shifts a bit, and Talbo rests his head on Vero's shoulder (she doesn't push him off, this time.)

"I miss him," Talbo says. "I miss just having him around."

Vero nods, because there's really no other way to explain it. fast forward to the next morning, and Max and Vero are once again in the fucking hallway together, heads close and whispering, and Marc looks away sharply. yeah, he's feeling better (mostly thanks to Sid, who sat with him and took him home, to Sid's house, and fed him homemade food, and helped him feel more _human_ ), but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt to see them together. speaking of Sid, he's coming down the hallway toward Flower.

except -- he's stopped, by Max and Vero. and Marc is seized by a momentary panic, and it lasts more than a moment, if he's honest -- are Max and Vero going to take Sid from him too?

 **gemma** : and okay, see, Flower knows in his heart of hearts that he's being kind of ridiculous. he's never had a claim on any of their time, not Sid, not Vero, not Max. they all have their own lives and their own stuff to do and their own friends and Flower had kind of known that he was always going to be second best, but once, just _once_ , he'd have liked to come in first.

Sid doesn't belong to him, but he's been actual, proper friends with Sid for a lot longer than he's been friends/communicated regularly with Veronique-the-dreamy-girl-next-door or Max-the-cornerback-with-a-deep-rolling-chuckle and--

it's not _fair_.

it's not _fair_ that everyone gets what they want but him, but Flower's kind of a fuck up (especially in the past month or so) and he wouldn't blame Sid if Sid ditched Marc too. maybe the time they had spent at the rink the night before had been the breaking point. Sid had never been all that equipped to deal with excessive feelings. maybe Yegno the Russian had made him do it. maybe Sid was just doing his captainly duty.

Flower kind of hates that he's been so insecure recently, knows that he's thinking the worst of his friend with no real reason, but he can't stop himself, running through crushing future scenario after crushing future scenario in which Sid ditches him too and then Max and Veronique and Sidney go off into a land full of happiness and success and a forbes top 10 photoshoot or something. he's about to tear up again, he can fucking feel it, and Marc swivels his baseball cap around so it's on correctly, for once, tugging the brim down so he can hide his eyes.

and just as Marc's about to turn around with the rest of the people steadily draining out of the locker area, head to study hall and catch up on his work (or maybe his sleep, who knows, Flower's exhausted, still in the eddies of heartbreak and low self-esteem, just wants to lie down and sleep for a century, let the world fix itself because he had _tried_ and he _couldn't do it anymore_ ), Sid's voice rises angrily, cracking with indignation.

Marc presses himself against the side of a locker, hiding, able to hear every word of Sid's anger.

Sid starts off incredulous, with _are you kidding me_ , and quickly progresses through shock ( _no, are you seriously kidding me, because let me tell you something_ ) to anger ( _what, you thought 'oh, it's Crosby, of course he won't mind playing hockey' even when it means making Flower feel even worse because Crosby obviously puts hockey above his friends_ ) to, as he hits his stride, a full rundown, a detailed list, on their failures as friends ( _have you even noticed what's going on with him_ , and, _he's fucking miserable_ _and it's all your fault_ , and, _if you have the guts to call yourselves his friends i don't want to know what your enemies look like because you are /literally/ the worst friends i have ever seen_ , and, _when's the last time either of you even talked to him_ and _i can't believe you. either of you_.) and then moves on to the effects of those failures ( _do you know how much he's been lighting up_ , and, _his grades are dropping_ , and, _i found him at the rink at eleven forty five pm last night and he didn't look like it was his first time, either_ , and, _i bet you didn't even know that his knees and palms are all scraped up because he's been skating without his pads in the middle of the night /because he's miserable and stuck in his own head/ but_ oh wait) and he ends with " _make up your minds_."

and---that. wow. there's a charged silence from the locker area, Sid's breathing loud and rough. Flower can envision Sid's face, white and pinched, colour blooming high on his cheeks as he shoulders his bag.

Marc slides away silently, feeling light and happy and warm inside because _Sidney Crosby, ladies and gentlemen_.

 **penny** : Max and Vero stand there, staring at Sid like they had no idea what planet he came from. they're stunned.

For his part, Sid just stands there, catching his breath and glaring at the two of them. (He saw Flower hear the entire rant and then slip away, don't think for a moment he didn't.)

And they're stunned because...because Sid's completely right. Sid's a better person than either of them can ever hope to be. finally, the tension breaks, and Sid looks both Max and Vero in the eyes.

"fix this, or you're not getting him back." he says to the two of them, and it doesn't sound like a threat, it just sounds like the truth, and it falls on Max and Vero like a brick.

Sid doesn't need to see their reactions, though -- he shoulders his bag and walks around them, picking his pace to catch up to Flower.

Max and Vero just stand there in the hallway, not looking at each other or anyone. because yeah, they knew they fucked up, but they had no idea the extent to which they had really fucked up. Max's breathing gets harsher and harsher, and it doesn't even seem like he's noticing that he's well on the way to hyperventilation until Vero's hand grabs his wrist. she pulls him away, out of the hall and the questioning eyes of high schoolers eager for a scene to watch. she pulls him away, to their favourite place -- the little spot under the bleachers on the football field, where no one looks.

It's the place they've done all of their conspiring during the school day, and even though Vero can barely see through her own sadness and anger and frustration, they manage to find their way there. Max's knees seem to give out when they get there, and he sits down, hard, on the ground, burying his head in his hands. Vero sits down beside him, sighing and wondering how she became the least emotional person around here.

She rests a hand on top of Max's head, stroking lightly, and it's like that's the catalyst.

words come pouring out of Max's mouth, words like _how could i not have noticed_ and _all i wanted was a chance with him_ and _there's never been anyone quite like him for me_ and _what if we've hurt him and he hates us_ and even worse, _what if he's hurt forever?_

And Vero has no answer to his questions. they only make her heart hurt more. but she leans against Max, and she tells him "we're going to fix this at any and all costs. we're not going to stop. we're going to make him see how much he's worth."

and Max doesn't stop muttering to himself, but his breathing begins to calm, and Vero's heart begins to slow down, and maybe that means they've come to a final decision.

Marc goes to study hall. he grabs his usual seat at the back of the classroom, sets up his books on his desk like he's going to do work, and then he puts his head down on his books, and he just breathes. he's shockingly calm, for what he just witnessed, and even though his heart his pounding, his head is remarkably clear. because...he thought he wasn't worth it. he thought no one was ever going to make him their first priority. that's what he's been telling himself this whole time, what he's been repeating over and over until the words are imprinted onto the backs of his eyelids. he thought no one was ever going to love him the way he loved -- openly, freely, without worries and without hesitating. but....Sidney Crosby just put Marc over hockey.

and Sid loves hockey, almost as much as he loves history, and that's a lot. Sid _breathes_ hockey, and he just turned it down because he’s angry with Max and Vero on _his_ behalf. And, Marc realizes, having someone else on your side of the battlefield feels _really_ good. it's like have good d-men in front of him when he's in the crease -- he knows he can do it without them, probably, but having them there to help him out makes it easier for him to breathe.

 **gemma** : _and it doesn't stop there_ , is the crazy bit!! during study hall, Yevni the Russian lumbers over --that boy uses up all his grace on the ice, honestly--and puts a giant, paw-like hand on Flower's hat, scruffing his goalie affectionately before tapping Marc's head and giving him a _nod_ , like he's making a promise on Mother Russia or something.

it's kind of terrifying, except that honestly, Sid's Russian exchange kid isn't nearly as insane as the other kids in that program, and at least this Russian is on Marc's team, which, thank god because he's kind of a monster on the ice.

and the kid who sits behind him in math leans over and passes him a note that says 'saw u at the sk8prk ur p good', and Kris texts him to see if he's up for seeing a movie (or shooting the shit, or lighting up, or skating around, on ice or off, it's kind of a general 'let's hang out' text) and Flower can't stop the small, happy tilt of his mouth.

he texts back that he could hang out that night and kind of slides down into his seat, trying to hide his pleased expression when Kris immediately texts him back, saying **k dude** , following up a second later with **jsyk i saw u sk8 the other day u look like a spaz imma teach you how2 do a proper flip b there @7?** Flower scrunches his nose up immediately, shooting back **fuck you you skate vert i will destroy you** , and feeling immensely satisfied when all he gets back in return is an emoticon sticking its tongue out.

god, his life is so pathetic.

Flower actually managed to be productive between texting Kris--he had a bunch of worksheets to do, and he had gotten that pile slashed in half by the time study hall and lunch were over. Sid and his Russian sat next to and across from him, in the corner table, like they were his living bookends. Marc worked steadily through lunch, eating less than Sid approved of, judging by the pointed faces he kept making at Marc's half-eaten food, listening with one ear to their stilted yet enthusiastic discussion of past czars and bolsheviks while he conjugated French verbs and bubbled in words for stupid English worksheets. Standardized test prep could suck his dick, seriously.

he ends the day not having seen Max or Vero at all, and he can't quite decide if he's happy or sad about it. Sid hovers by his locker as he dumps his shit out, awkwardly protective, although Flower can't figure out what exactly he's supposed to be protected from. (it doesn't cross his mind that maybe it's Max or Vero. at all. if it does, he ignores it. firmly.)

he fidgets by the carpool lane after school where he's waiting with Sid, even though he's going to the skate park anyways because fuck Kris, he can do a 360 better than Letang anyday, rolls his board beneath one foot. Sid is reading his (now highlighted and post-it'd and annotated in two sets of handwriting in five different colours) giant brick of Russian history diligently. Marc sees Sid's pick up (a minivan) at the very end of the carpool line and he takes in a breath, swiping off his cap and running his hand through his hair.  
"thanks," he says to Sid, who looks up, bewildered.

"uh," Sid says.

"I mean," Flower continues, "for uh, doing what you did. last night. thanks. for that. yeah. thanks."

Sid still looks puzzled, closing his book, holding his place with his finger. "uh," he says again, looking a bit trapped. "You're welcome??" Sid ventures, like he knows he's supposed to say something but not quite sure why.

"I mean," he says quickly, kind of stuttering over himself, "You're my friend, and, uh. yeah." Flower is kind of staring at him, because they're friends, yeah, but they don't really go around declaring their friendship like that because, uh. Sid is Sid and Marc is Marc and they just do the thing and it's all good without words, y'know?

Sid can obviously sense his goalie's confusion, and he draws himself up importantly, like he's about to give a pre-game speech to the team before they all head to the ice for regional playoffs or something. "You are my friend," Sid declares solemnly, serious like he always is, "and you needed someone." 

He says it like it's just that simple, and Flower just wonders for a second if that's really how Sid sees it. if Sid really thinks it's that simple.

But then he realizes: of course that's how Sid sees it. It really is that simple for Sid. But Sid is Sid and Marc is Marc, in the end.

Sid looks super uncomfortable, like he has fulfilled his weekly emoting quota and now just wants to go back to reading about communist Russia, and Flower has really taken enough time from his captain and friend, so he makes like he's about to go, swinging his backpack onto both shoulders. just before he shifts his weight to kick off, though, Sid reaches out, quick and light, and taps Flower on the brim of his cap, a wordless affirmation.

Flower grins back at his friend, for the first time in a long while, and kicks off.

 **penny** : So things start slowly getting better for Marc. he's got standing 'dates' with Kris at the skate park, and they build a pretty good friendship, based mainly about chirping each other and having nowhere better to go. Flower spends a lot of his time over at Kris's house, now, doing school work or playing video games or just generally hanging out. Kris doesn't judge him, doesn't know about Marc's tragic love story, and that's...beautifully refreshing for Marc. Because Kris is a blank skate for Marc, somewhere he can go and not be fussed over, or judged. it's just...calm, it's nice, it's a new feeling.

Marc starts feeling like now he kind of has a group of friends? he never really expected that, especially not the past few weeks, but he's got Sid and Zhegno, who watch him like hawks but don't say anything about the entire situation, just stick with him like two pesky awkward...somethings. the point is, they're there for him, and Flower starts slowly realizing that even if Sid and Zhegni have each other, even if they're really weirdly close, they're not leaving Flower in the dust. they're going to be there even if they have each other.

(Flower refuses to consider that Max and Vero could at least have done the same for him. he doesn't think about it.)

and now he's got Kris, anyway, and Kris is a great friend. Kris knows all about feeling alone, shoved around in the foster system like he was, but he doesn't say anything about it, doesn't say anything in the days Flower seems a bit more down -- he's just there to offer Flower a skate to get his mind quiet and his adrenaline surging. he seems to know exactly how to make Flower feel better, and Flower doesn't understand how, but he's sure as hell thankful for it.

Max and Vero take some time to regroup. the next time they decide to meet up at Vero's place, Vero sits Max down in her desk chair and stands over him.

"what are we doing here," she asks him.

"Um...trying to get Flower back?" Max says. the question's completely out of nowhere, what the fuck, v. Vero rolls her eyes (it's a bad habit, she picked it up from Max.)

"Yes, right, but what about us?" Max's eyes widen and he finally figures out what she's talking about. Vero nods.

"So are we just going to...share him?" Max asks. he doesn't seem too enthused about the idea, and Vero has a moment of panic before realizing that their definition of share might be a bit different.

"We're going to share him and each other, I thought?" she says. "like...all three of us. No one's left out."

Max stands up and kisses Vero lightly (just a small kiss, they still think it's not worth it without Marc) and with a look of determination, asks, "so how are we going to do this?" and they go back to their original tactics of planning things out with pen and paper.

"We have to get his trust back," Max says in one of his smarter comments of the evening. Vero pats his head for it. but he's right, and she tells him so.

"We should try to just be his friends," she says. "just get back to what we were."

"It's going to take a lot of work, by the look of it," Max says. Vero raises a single eyebrow at him.

"It's worth it, isn't it?" she asks, challenge clear in her tone. Max nods.

"of course it is." his voice is just as steeled and ready as hers is. Vero smiles.

"Glad we agree," she says.

 **gemma** : Flower spent the summer between his junior and senior years alternately being dragged around on college visits, stocking up on pot, and kind of tripping headfirst into what he's pretty sure could be called 'love' with Vero. he spends the first two and a half months of the school year spiraling into a desperately sad, lonely, haze of self-loathing and the next week slowly finding his stability and his footing again. before he knows it, it's early november, his grades are sinking rapidly, he's got to apply to colleges (ohshit), he's not feeling so isolated anymore, Kris and Sid are great friends, and hockey season is starting.

Flower spends twenty minutes each morning stretching--getting up close and personal with his scrapes and bruises from rough trick-skating with Kris, more like--and a lot of time keeping his grades mostly-alright between seeing Kris and worrying about his future and hockey practice and--there's a lot, okay??

he keeps trying to tell himself that he's definitely over Max and Vero, but it's hard, especially since Max still sits next to him in history and right behind him in earth science, and they're still partnered for that year long project in earth science and it just seems like their previous easy banter has frozen between them, neither side willing to loosen up, or even to open their mouths and it is _so awkward_ and Flower can tell that neither of them want it to be awkward??

he misses Max's deep, rolling, laugh. it was entirely too mature to belong to a high schooler and it had always given Flower shivers low in his spine.

Vero sits on the other side of his french class, and sometimes Flower catches himself staring at her eyes, or her smile, or her dimples as they wink in and out as she talks, or looks down and notices that he's been drawing her ears, the curve of her neck, and forces himself to stop.

it's ... hard.

but then he keeps fucking seeing them walking the hallways like their lockers aren't in completely opposite directions, and he thinks, oh. right.

but to be honest, he's got less time to feel sorry for himself now, because pre-season practices have ended and the official roster has gone up and Flower is their starting goalie and their first games are in january and Sid is kind of going insane about his last year for high school competitions.

Flower's kind of busy with life, and that's his excuse when during lunch one day, Sid and Zheni the Russian sit down at his table and nail him with twin death stares for no apparent Marc.

"Uh," Marc offers, sandwich hanging in front of his mouth. "I didn't miss a practice, did I?" because that's the only thing that he can think of that would get both Sid and Evno the Russian to pin him with stares like that. they're both pretty scary about hockey, which just lends credence to Flower's private conviction that they are soulmates.

Sid leans forward earnestly, hands laced together on the table. "no," he says first, "you haven't, _and_ ," he adds quickly and intensely, "you better not start, either, because we have too many new kids who are going to end up dropping down into the club instead of the sport and if our starting goalie starts skipping practices we'll lose more of them than we will already."

Marc nods hesitantly. "Is ... is that it?" he asks because with Sid it never is. Genya shakes his head, and pokes Sid in the side.

Sid looks even more earnest (and uncomfortable) and goes, for no reason whatsoever, "I would like you to know, as your captain, that I respect and affirm your contributions to the team regardless of any personal issues that you may have and that I also respect and affirm your lifestyle and I hope that you'll come to me if you have any problems with anyone on the team. And as your friend, I want you know that I will always support you."

Marc is touched, he really, really, is, but at the same time??? like?? what? excuse him, but _what_??

"thanks?" he asks dubiously, receiving two firm nods in response. "that's good to know." Flower adds, because Sid is looking pretty eager for some kind of attention or whatever, and Sid slumps back into his chair immediately.

"no care if you gay,: Evno the Russian says bluntly. "you get problem you come to us. we take care.' and that, is, uh.

Marc is actually touched, like, really and seriously. even if he's bisexual, technically.

"Thanks guys," Flower says, and Sid throws up his hands.

"Finally!" Sid says, "Oh, yeah, you're welcome, sorry, I was saying finally because your face stopped looking like you ate horse turds, and also now that you know that it won't affect your place on the team, can you please just .. talk to either Veronique or to Talbot?? Talbot especially. I think he's been lurking outside the locker room doors and it's kind of creeping the newer kids out, please fix it, okay thank you."

And he opens his book and takes out a pen and firmly underlines an entire passage as Flower just kind of gapes.

 **penny** : "What do you mean, _lurking outside the locker room_?" Flower asks the two of them, but Sid has had his fill of needless emotions for the day, so Yevgo the Russian speaks up.

"He always there, outside doors. Never say anything. Just stand. And wait." Flower's pretty sure he would have noticed Max waiting outside the locker room. Then again, Flower's usually the last one out. Maybe Max doesn't wait that long.

"Just deal with them, okay?" Sid asks, not even looking up from his book. "They're around all the time, and the worried looks they're giving you are pissing me off."

Flower probably says something that agrees to do something -- he's not really sure what he says, given how full of noise his head is. he just doesn't understand it; he and Max were done, a long time ago, back when Max ditched him, and he and Vero were never an official thing, they were just neighbours, so why are both Max and Vero acting so weirdly? Flower's just not sure, to be honest.

He throws himself into schoolwork for the rest of the day, going through all the right motions even while his mind can't stop buzzing with the new knowledge. History is a bitch to get through, especially because Marc keeps thinking about Max waiting outside the locker room, and keep catching Max glancing at him, and it's just too much. he honestly has no idea what this means. he takes his time in the locker room after practice.

Not because he's avoiding Max.

He's definitely not avoiding Max.

(He is absolutely avoiding Max.)

but Vero's going to be the easier one to deal with, in this situation, he thinks, so when he gets home after practice, he pulls out his phone, scrolls through his contacts, and when he finds Vero's name, he texts her. Just a simple **hi _._**  Nothing more, because looking at the picture of her he has set as her contact picture still stings with the pain of heartbreak and betrayal. But he's better now. He's calmer now, he's got his friends on his side, and he might be ready to extend an olive branch.

Max and Vero are lying on Max's bed, talking through their plan. Max is complaining about how long goalies take to get their gear off and change, can't Flower be any faster? Max has practice to get to practice too, y’know. and Vero's rolling her eyes because "really Max, you think Marc's not doing this on purpose?" he obviously knows Max is out there, Sid would have told him by now, so obviously Marc probably doesn't want to talk to Max.

Vero's in the middle of explaining this to Max when her phone buzzes. She figures at first it's from a friend, or her study group, and finishes telling Max he's wrong before looking down at her phone. then, she freezes.

"What's wrong now?" Max asks. He can't see her face, he's lying on his back and she's on her front, and they're side by side, so all he can see are the stars and football stickers his six-year-old self put up on the ceiling. But Vero doesn't respond, and doesn't respond, and finally Max sits up.

"Vero, seriously, what's up?" he asks her, leaning against her shoulder. She just shows him the phone. Marc-Andre Fleury (1): **hi**

Max takes a moment to roll his eyes, because of course Vero puts full names in her phone, instead of nicknames. but then he looks at the text again, and it sinks in. Flower just texted Vero.

"What do I say?" Vero asks, her voice tiny and almost a whisper.

 **gemma** : Vero stares at Max, huge eyed and worried. Max shrugs, face scrunching up.

"Say hi back?" he asks.

"oh." Vero seems a bit stupefied at the simplicity of that suggestion. Max grabs her phone and types out a quick **hey**  back.

"wait!" Vero cries, "put a smiley face in", and Max adds it.

 **hey :)**  reads the text and they debate hotly the number of -ys that they should use (heyyy or heyy or just hey, and decide that while hey might be a bit bland, more than one -y ends up looking douchey and like they're trying too hard) or if they should change the smiley to a winky face (which they eventually agree is a bit skeevy) and the two of them stare at the tiny screen as the message gets sent.

there isn't an instant reply, and Vero deflates, hitting Max on the shoulder half-heartedly.

"shit." Vero sighs, and Max rolls over, blanketing her with his big body, grabbing her in a tight hug.

"I miss him," Vero says mournfully. "we used to at least, like, bump into each other on the way home. but now it's like ... I haven't seen him properly in a while."

"same," Max commiserates, "and we practically sit next to each other in two classes, too! I talk to him almost every day!"

"Yeah, but you don't _talk_ to him," Vero points out, and Max groans at the reminder.

"That's the point!" he says, "I communicate with him almost every single day but we don't _talk_ and I miss him."

They lie in a comfortable silence, pouting together.

"hey, when is your first game?" Vero asks, nudging Max in the ribs with her pointy elbows.

"in two weeks, why?" Max says, poking her side. Vero slaps his hand away playfully, and says,

"I was thinking that we could maybe go to Marc's first hockey game this season, maybe?"

"Sure," Max says. it's a good idea, and he has no idea why they hadn't thought of it before. he would go on to say something to that effect, except that Vero’s phone buzzes again and they both fall off his bed in their mad scramble to get it.

"what's it say?" Max says from the floor, as Vero snatches her phone up.

"he wants to talk to me tomorrow," Vero breathes in delight, beaming. she's fairly certain that if she can just sit down with Marc and talk to him, explain to him what's been going on, everything will get better. communication is the golden rule of relationships, that's what she'd always been taught, and after Crosby's heated lecture, she had realized that she and Max hadn't been wooing Marc at all, that they had been so busy creating plans to woo him that they had withdrawn from him, isolated him, ignored him and taken him for granted.

when she had realized that, in between patting Max's back as he had rubbed his face over and over, groaning to himself as he re-examined every action he had taken in the past two months, she had known, deep in her bones, that she had disappointed herself.

Vero hated disappointing anyone, especially herself. and she _knew better,_ was the rub of it! Vero had always kind of known that her boy-next-door had low self-esteem, and it had become a full on realization when Vero had realized that Marc was peppy and cheerful and upbeat and he also never looked disappointed when plans were cancelled or he was left out of something or when someone brought up past achievements. he never looked disappointed; he always looked resigned. he looked like he was subtly _vindicated_ , like he had been waiting for a ball to drop and it finally had.

Vero, once she had realized over the summer that yeah, she wasn't going to be rid of her affection for Marc-Andre Fleury anytime soon, had vowed to be a good human being and never take him for granted. she wasn't really in the habit of taking any of her friends for granted, but she had still somehow managed to do it to Marc. it was, quite frankly, a devastating blow.

Vero didn't like realizing that maybe she wasn't as good a person as she always tried to be, that she had been hurting someone quietly for weeks and she had never noticed. so. communication.

Vero sits up, casting about wildly for her pen and notepad, already thinking about the list that she'd have to write. she was going to title it 'communication 101 aka how to talk to Marc'.

Max hands her both items and looks at her kind of sadly. Vero pauses in her scribbling suspiciously.

"What," she says. "You have that face on, Max." (Max immediately tries to rearrange his face into something different, but it doesn't quite work, and he ends up looking hilariously torn between sadness and constipation. Vero absolutely does not laugh like a hyena at that, she giggles like a proper lady.)

"don't try that on me, mister," Vero scolds, "I saw that face. that was your _I_ _am sad_ face, why were you making that face."

Max's expression slides back to sad as he wiggles closer to her, putting his head on her lap.

"...," he mumbles into her leg.

"Didn't catch that," Vero tells him. Max huffs a put-upon sigh and tilts his head so his cheek is on her knee instead of his mouth.

"Why didn't he text meeeeee," Max whines. Vero is caught between laughing at him because she's mean like that and patting him on the head out of sympathy.

"Your time will come," she says instead, like she's some sort of guru petting his hair. Max butts into it shamelessly, mouth still turned down a bit at the corners.

"Can it come _sooner_ ," he asks plaintively. Vero shrugs. she knows a lot of things, but obviously predicting Marc-Andre's behaviour isn't her strong suit.

"Talking to one person is better than talking to none?" she says, but it comes out as more of a question. Max groans.

"I guess," he allows, "but still." Vero gives in to her urge to run one hand roughly through Max's hair, like she's scruffing a puppy (Max's hair is ridiculous, when she's done it’s sticking up like he licked a wire).

"it'll happen," Vero promises. "now help me write out what to say when i go talk to him."

 **penny** : It's slow going, trying to figure out what to say to Marc. Vero spends more time with her hands in Max's hair than holding a pen (and she hadn't realized how easy it is to be this affectionate with Max, but he's like a human puppy and it's so easy to love him hopelessly -- and that just floods her more guilt, because if she can see it, Marc can too. and isn't that the root of the problem? Marc can see their ease with each other, Vero and Max, and because he's Marc, he accepted it as just more proof that the universe is conspiring against him.) Max notices the guilty, upset look on her face when that thought hits her, and he asks her what's bothering her.

"it's just..." Vero sighs. "I took so much of what Marc means to me for granted. I didn’t mean to. but I did." Max just squeezes her hand tighter, and they just...hold on, to each other, for a bit.

Marc regrets the text as soon as he sends it. what is he going to say to Vero? what does he have to say to her, aside from _how could you?_ he's not good at emotions, he doesn't know how to articulate how he feels. but that's what he scheduled with Vero, and well, he guesses he's going to have to face the music. at least it's on his terms.

Flower's a ball of nervous energy all morning. Sid finally sits him down at lunch, demanding to know what's up, and Flower just tells him. he explains what's going in, and Sid -- Sid _listens_.

Flower's still not used to that. so he unloads the latest developments on Sid, and Sid tells him to "communicate. both of you are sitting under a knife suspended in midair, and neither of you is ready for the knife to drop. just let her know what she means to you. or, better yet, let her do the talking."

Flower doesn't respond. he's distracted all through practice, especially when he sees Vero sitting in the bleachers, up high. like he was when he came here to cry. it takes him record time to finish cleaning up after practice, stretching and showering and putting together a bag of practice gear. finally, Flower runs out of ways to procrastinate. he leaves the locker room, taking his gear bag, his backpack and his board. he makes his way slowly up to where Vero's been sitting for all of practice, dropping his bags on a nearby seat, and sitting down next to her. "so. hi." he says.

 **gemma** : hi, Vero says, nerves jangling. her fingers are trembling a bit, and inside of her boots her toes are wiggling over and over, just to get rid of some of the nervous tension in her body. they sit in an awkward silence for a minute, both _almost_ opening their mouths to say something before blowing out a breath and hunching lower in their seats.

"Uh," Vero says, "you wanted to talk to me?" and it's a shitty move, she knows that, putting all of the responsibility in Marc's court, and right after she says it she thinks ' _what if that came out like i don't want to talk to him too??_ ' and she hastens to add, "not that that's a, uh, a problem! i like talking to you!"

Marc looks at her weirdly, and Vero closes her mouth, horrified at her sudden lack of brain-to-mouth filter. Marc is going to think she's a _total spaz_ now and never want to talk to her again and she'll never even get to tell him that she really likes his smile and his stupid hair and his dorky little laugh and that he's smart and that she kind of wants to kiss him forever and that he was special to her, oh _shit she fucked it up_ and Marc goes and proves that Vero's Marc-reading-skills are l _egitimately terrible_ because he cracks a small smile, and the air between them abruptly deflates.

"you like talking to me, eh?" Marc says--and it comes off as kind of ... flirty?? cheesy??? like a terrible, terrible line? this time it's his face that heats up, his ears going scarlet, red creeping down his neck. Vero--ohgod--kind of wants to see how far his blush goes.

"yeah, just a bit," she says, instead of saying that she would prefer that Marc take his shirt off so she can lick him. that would probably scare him off, which is the absolute opposite of what Vero is trying to accomplish here! she wrote a bullet pointed list in order of importance and everything!

they smile small, stupid, smiles at each other, each kind of overwhelmed by the sudden possibility that maybe everything isn't ruined?? despite like, building it up in their heads for weeks and weeks, they still obviously have some sort of chemistry going on, can still make each other laugh.

"Sid said i had to communicate," Marc says to her, and Vero nods back at him, seriously.

"Max and i told each other that we have to communicate too," she tells Marc, and that was obviously exactly the wrong thing to say.

"how, uh," Marc says, stuttering a little bit, "how's that going between you two?" and Vero pauses at that, because there really isn't any sort of defined relationship between her and Max, at least not without Marc.

"how's what going," she asks him, because she's got a sneaking suspicion, here.

"you're dating, right?" Marc asks, kind of quietly. "how's that going?"

He’s pulling a weird smile onto his face, trying to look happy for them, and--oh. oh. wow. Vero is such an idiot. she has to fix this right now.

"we're not dating," Vero tells Marc decisively, laying it out like a challenge. Marc is startled into looking up, bewildered.

"then what do you call doing what you're doing??" he challenges right back, and yep, Vero remembers Max trying to explain different goalie styles and that Flower (what a cute nickname, Vero thinks every time she hears it, but it's an athlete nickname and Vero knows enough not to intrude on that) is kind of infamous for 'challenging' on the ice. obviously it's not a just-on-ice trait, but it's part of what Vero loveslikesadores about him, that Marc is his own person. even when his own person jumps to conclusions.

even still, Vero hesitates. she doesn't want to say that she and Max are 'just friends' because one, not true, and two, since they have a plan to seduce Marc into a polyamorous relationship she probably shouldn't lie about that, but also three, because if she says that they are dating or whatever then Marc will just take it the wrong way _again_.

so she settles for "we're mostly flirt-buddies right now," which is mostly honest.

"flirt-buddies." Marc repeats disbelievingly, and Vero winces internally, because yeah, not exactly her finest piece of oration right there.

"you aren't dating? it's completely platonic?"

"weeeeell," Vero says, wincing again, outwardly this time. "not _completely_ platonic? but not dating. we-" she stops herself there because she's getting waaay off track.

"we said we wanted to communicate more," she changes track, and looks right at Marc as she finishes with, 'about you'.

Marc looks like someone punched him in the stomach. no, like a hockey puck had gotten him in the chest. he looks shocked and hurt and vulnerable all at once, with anger lining those emotions like an underscore.

"about me," he repeats quietly. "what about me," he says, brow starting to furrow, "oh boo-hoo poor Marc-Andre what a loser?"

Vero stares, open mouthed.

'what about oh, poor little goalie, not good enough for elite linebacker and valedictorian, or," he continues, picking up speed as he works up his anger, "let's bond over making fun of that Marc kid, huh? is that what kind of _communication_ you wanted?"

Vero kind of wants to beat Marc over the head with her AP physics textbook and also start crying again, because Marc actually thinks that she and Max are the kind of people that would do that to him??? Vero can't decide whether to be insulted and outraged or heartbroken at the presentation of yet more evidence of how low Marc's self esteem is. she settles for frowning prodigiously at him.

" _no_ ," she says firmly, because if she said it any other way it would end up with tears. also, she wants to _firmly imprint_ upon Marc's mind that it needs to stop jumping to conclusions like this and _l_ _et her finish speaking, thanks_.

"no that is _not_ the kind of communication i wanted--we wanted."

"... then what kind did you _want_ ," Marc says, slumping down again, all the anger that had been animating him gone. he stares between his feet. Vero can't handle this rollercoaster ride of emotions.

she wants Max here, because he's meant to be a part of their relationship, he's the easygoing solid dude who connects to both of them, that balances them out. the three of them work together, elevate each other to their best selves. Like how if it were just Vero and Max it would be okay but Flower would make them better, and they just make each other better and brighter, and she wants Max there to hug them both close.

she doesn't want to communicate anymore. this was a stupid idea.

 **penny** : and Vero fucking _hates_ this, hates feeling like she has no choice but to lie about why she's here. like she has no choice but to let Marc down, again and again and again. hates feeling so adrift without Max there by her Side to anchor her, to keep her calm. but she's alone, and there's nothing she can do about it right now because Marc hasn't reached out to Max, he reached out to _her_.

"Marc...." she sighs. "we just wanted to make you happy. we wanted to...i just don't get it, Marc, when did our friendship disappear? why did this happen?" her voice grows more and more desperate.

"it happened when my best friends in the world stopped talking to me," Marc grits out, and Vero's done. sitting beside him, she can see how badly she messed this up, how much she failed at keeping the best thing that's ever happened to her.

Because Marc has so many other people surrounding him, he has friends from hockey and from skating.

She doesn’t. She’s spent her life wrapped up in studying and volunteering, and that means that she has a few close friends she’s chosen to keep, and no one else. Marc has any choice of best friends, but he’s chosen the two that seem to have hurt him the most. It shouldn’t make any sense, and Vero understands it anyway. Marc has chosen her and Max because he likes them, both of them. Both of them -- Max, and Vero -- they both mean something to Marc, and maybe Vero underestimated how big that ‘something’ is.

But it doesn’t matter anymore, because now she might, possibly, understand. That Marc likes her, and Marc likes Max. And Max likes Marc, and Max likes Vero. And Vero likes Max, and yeah, she might just love Marc. And if they can ever all get their collective shit together, this might just work out.

She buries her head in her hands, trying in vain to scrub away the tears that are appearing in her eyes, because she's not the one in pain here. everything that's happened in the past months has been her fault. she has no right to feel so upset about it, not like this.

"i'm sorry, Marc," she breathes. it's the only thing she can say for a long moment. but then she looks at him, square in the eyes (and she flinches, because he looks -- he looks wrecked, completely ruined by the idea that his friends --former friends?-- don't care anymore.)

"i can't say it enough times, Marc, honestly," she says, holding eye contact and letting him see everything that she's feeling -- regret and sorrow and the overwhelming love she feels for him. "i've fucked this up, and i just...every time i'm around you i just feel like i'm going to mess up the best thing the world has ever given me, and i hate it, you of all people know how much i hate messing up. and..."

she reaches for his hand, and feels a bit gratified when he doesn't pull away. he doesn't hold her hand, but he lets her hold on to his, and for now, that's the best she can hope for.

"and i understand if we can't go back to whatever we were before, because we -- i've really -- i get it. but i can't lose you, Marc. not as a friend, not -- i can't lose having you in my life every day, okay? i care about you, more than you know, and when you're gone, when you're not talking to me, it's like there's this huge part of my life that just gets...cut out, and i can't...i can't. so, um. i know i've been horrible, but...i thought you should know that," she concludes, letting go of his hand and making to stand up, needing to get out of here, go somewhere where she can feel sorry for herself and take as long as she needs to feel normal again.

"what about Max?" Marc's voice is quiet, but Vero can hear the desperate note in it, the odd twin sounds of desperation, for an answer, and of sadness, for everything he's lost. 

"where does Max come in, Vero? why is he involved?" 

Vero sighs. "i...i honestly can't tell you, Marc. you need to talk to him too. he misses you. as much as i do. we're both lost without you, Marc. All three of us need to be there, for that conversation." she smiles at him sadly.

"i'm so sorry, Marc," she says, one more time for good measure. she touches his shoulder lightly, a goodbye gesture where there once could have been a kiss, and she's gone, walking down up through the bleachers to the door, looking back every few steps with a look of heartbreak in her eyes.

and Marc...Marc doesn't know what to do. he sits in the bleachers. he stares out at the ice. he tries to understand everything he's just learned. tries to process the fact that Max and Vero aren't...together. that somehow, his own feelings factor into this whole messy equation. that Max has missed him, that Vero has missed him, that Vero isn't the same without him. tries to convince himself to believe her (and finds himself succeeding, because he's as gone for Vero as he ever was.) pulls out his phone and stares at his contact list blankly, trying to figure out what his next step should be. that's where Tanger finds him, twenty minutes later.

 **gemma** : 'you look fucking _wrecked_ , dude,' Kris tells Flower matter-of-factly, dropping onto the bench beside him. Marc doesn't say anything ( _again_ , he doesn't say anything _again_ , why did he ever think communicating was a good idea, he is so very clearly terrible at it, fucking it up just when maybe they could have been friends again mother _fucker_ ) and he stays still.

it's like one conversation has destroyed all his work to get better, to rise above the circumstances or whatever, made him go back to forgetting how to breathe and measuring his time by when they look at him, by their smiles. Marc _feels_ wrecked.

and this time, he knows it's _definitely_ his fault, because _he_ screwed up the conversation.

"i know," Marc says miserably. and the thing is?? Flower and Kris don't _do this_. that's not what their friendship is, or what it's about. Marc's angry at himself, for getting so caught up in his own little drama that it's spilling out beyond his internal divisions. Sid and Zhevi the Russian getting involved is bad enough, but Kris _doesn't even go to their school_ and it's ridiculous Kris looks at him for a few seconds before digging in his pockets and coming up with a battered joint and a lighter. he makes a questioning face at Marc, who just wants to forget that that whole thing just happened, that he now almost definitely has lost Vero, and who nods.

they pass the blunt between them, sucking down the smoke and letting it spiral hazily out from between their lips.

"what's up?" Kris asks, waiting for his turn. "usually i don't see you around here, man."

Marc screws up his nose and takes a deep drag, already feeling loose and relaxed. he hands the joint to his friend and slouches back. "dunno," he says, not really wanting to get into it. "wasn't really feeling the skatepark today, i guess. and practice ended a while ago and i didn't really feel like going home.'

"i didn't know you did ice skating," Kris says, surprised. Marc blinks at him, a bit bewildered, because, how had that _never_ come up? he's played since... forever, basically. Marc can't remember a time when his afterschool hours weren't eaten up by drills and butterflies.

"i play hockey," Flower says, pride dim through his words. "i'm the goaltender."

Kris looks suitably impressed, letting smoke curl out through his nostrils like a dragon.

"pretty cool, bro," he says. "when i get to play i'm a d-man." he's got some pride in his words too, and they companionably bump fists, a new thread connecting them, now.

"Flower," Marc says to his friend impulsively. "my team calls me Flower." Kris's mouth curves up into a lopsided smile.

"Tanger," he says. "nice to meet you, _Flower_." his eyes are laughing.

"Americans," he says, and Marc-Andre laughs, because Kris is from French-Canada too and he gets it.

"it's like Fleury is too hard for them to pronounce!" Marc says, aware that since he's finding it so hilarious he's probably baked by now. it's okay though. when he's high he can forget about whatever emotional turmoil is going on, and that's what he wants right now. Kris cackles with him, and they get to moving off the freezing bleachers, unco-ordinated and weaving a bit tipsily.

"I'm hungry," Marc says some minutes later, lugging both of his (super heavy) bags after making Kris carry his board.

"so?" Kris asks him, staggering along kind of drunkenly. Kris is a hilarious lightweight when it comes to pot; he ends up walking so drunk, at least Marc can manage trudging in a straight line. they've arrived in front of Marc's house, where all the lights are off. Flower doesn't let it bother him, and he unlocks the door to let them in.

"do you like cookies?" he asks, remembering that they were having a conversation. Kris beams at him obnoxiously.

"everyone likes cookies, dude," Kris tells him loftily, staring a good foot to Marc's left. Marc dumps his bags in the basement, where his room is, kicks his board down the stairs as well, and makes his way to the kitchen.

"what's your favorite kind of cookie," he asks, kind of loudly. Kris cracks up in the corner of the kitchen, and Marc decides to ignore him and just make peanut butter cookies because they are delicious and he wants them.

they chat about nonsensical things while the cookies are in the oven, chirping each other about how badly they handle pot and the tricks they did last time they met up at the skatepark. they end up sitting next to each other, heads bent over a piece of printer paper, drawing a careful hockey plan in bright orange crayon because that's all that Tanger could find and Marc didn't feel like digging up a pen.

they take the cookies into the basement, sprawled on Marc's futon side by side, kind of turned in so they can see each other. they eat the cookies (plow through them, and Marc brags about his baking powers and Kris nods seriously along, crumbs down his shirt) and uh,

Marc kind of ends up spilling his tragic tale of woe to Kris anyways.

he really needs to stop talking about himself to everyone he knows, Marc doesn't need to let everyone know that he's even more a fuck up than they already know, but Kris just listens to him solemnly and claps him on the back when he's done.

" _listen_ ," Kris says, red-eyed and lazy, in between munching on another cookie. it's kind of relieving that Marc doesn't have all of Kris' attention, that Kris thinks that Marc's problems aren't the entirety of Marc.

Kris sounds like he's imparting timeless wisdom when he says, "you're being kind of a pussy about this whole thing." Marc stalls for a second, trying to parse that, before becoming vaguely indignant. (pot makes him hazy and easygoing; it's a problem.)

" _hey_ ," he says, about ready to work up some quiet steam, when Kris waves a hand in a shushing motion, snagging another cookie with his other one.

"no," Kris says earnestly, "look, you've been tied up in knots over this for basically ages and i think we can all agree that like, sitting down and talking things out isn't exactly working, right?"

Marc nods, mood taking an abrupt right turn into miserable again. (pot also fucks with his moods, which is another problem.)

"right," he says.

"sooo," Kris says triumphantly, "you gotta _stop talking_." he says it like it's a pearl of wisdom that will solve all of Marc's woes, and Marc nods along until he realizes what he's nodding to, and starts shaking his head instead.

"terrible idea," Marc says, and he wants another blunt, his high is wearing off. Kris, like he read his mind --"no, dude, you said it out loud, man you are so totally baked"--digs out another one and lights it up. Marc steals it and takes a deep drag, holding it for a count of seven before attempting smoke rings, watching them float up and dissipate. they come out lopsided. fuck his life.

"terrible, terrible idea," Marc reiterates, pointing the joint at Kris to emphasize. "we're _already_ not talking."

"no, dude," Kris says, licking crumbs off his mouth. "you gotta stop trying to pussyfoot around all this shit and just go for it. you like her, right?"

Marc nods, because he does. he really really does. he's known her since forever and he's liked her since forever, and he wants to be her forever--Kris is cracking up again, and Marc curses because he said that out loud, didn't he. fuck his actual life.

"and you like _him_ , right?" Kris says, not sounding at all bothered that Marc had just told him that he was in the middle of a bisexual love triangle.

Kris is kind of great, Marc decides. Marc nods again, because he does. he likes Max too. he likes Max a lot. Max is like... a tree. a good tree. a puppy tree. across the table, Kris is giggling, and also he is drawing a penis on their hockey play because he is five years old, seriously.

"so jump them," Kris says, like it's the obvious solution and Marc is just being difficult. "or, no wait, don't jump them, corner them and make out with them. at the same time." he pauses.

"wait, is that possible?" he asks, "make out with them like, one after the other or something, when you're all together, and then jump them."

Marc is obviously too high if he's actually contemplating that as a legitimate course of action.

"actions speak louder than words, dude," Kris tells him solemnly, doodling another penis. "go for it. life's too short for bullshit like this, you gotta ball up."

it's a shitty pep talk, made worse by the random cliches that Tanger is now pulling out of thin air and tossing at him, like 'go big or go home,' and 'true love knows no bounds' and 'to infinity, and beyond!' Flower watches as Kris writes, in big, crooked letters on the back side of the page **'NUT UP'** and underlines it three times, before getting distracted and drawing what may have been intended to be a dinosaur.

They fall asleep fully clothed and with an empty cookie tray between them. it's good.

 **penny** : the problem _really_ starts the next morning, in Marc's opinion. because he wakes up, the problem isn't that yeah, they fell asleep half on top of each other and completely covered in cookie crumbs. the problem isn't even that he feels kind of shitty.

the problem that even now, he's considering Kris's advice as a legitimate course of action. which...he doesn't really know what to do about that. because yeah, okay, Vero sounded pretty certain about how she felt about Marc, yesterday, and she said Max missed him as much as she did. so...it could work? but at the same time, Marc doesn't want to read into things. he doesn't want to jump ahead, jump to conclusions he's completely unsure about. he does that enough to know that it gets him nowhere happy.

but....he _wants_. selfishly, with his whole heart, he _wants_ to have Max and Vero. he _wants_ to have them both, the way they care about him, the way Max's eyes crinkle when he smiles and the way Vero throws her head back when she laughs. he wants their craziness, too, because he knows so much about them and they know so much about him and they _could be good_. they could make something of this. and it's -- it's just so much.

he feels like his head is buzzing and he wants it to stop, completely. so he shakes Kris. Kris wakes up like a cat, yawning so widely his jaw cracks and rubbing his eyes.

"Kris."

"mwhaaa?" (no one ever claimed Kris was eloquent in the morning.)

"let's go to the skate park." when Flower has Kris looking slightly more alive, they grab a bite to eat and a cup of coffee each and go to the skate park. it's an easy ride to get there, and it's like last night never happened, it's like Marc never spilled his emotions to Kris at all. (and that -- it means the world, that Kris doesn't suddenly treat Marc like he's made of glass. Kris just treats him like Marc. and Marc's so thankful to have another friend in all of this madness, to have someone who will chirp him and laugh at him and won't care how it affects his already-fragile emotional state.) they spend the whole time laughing at each other and trying to push each other off of their respective boards, and it's...it's easy. it's _fun_.

but when they get to the skate park, Marc freezes, feeling a worse mood settle over him like a cloak. because Max and Vero are sitting there, off to the side, in the same spot Vero and Marc first kissed. and it's -- Marc lowers his eyes. it's just too much.

Kris looks over at him, clearly having noticed them too (and never let it be said that just because yeah Kris likes getting high he isn't observant, okay, he knows his friends and he knows what makes them tick). he takes him Marc's upset posture, and then he looks back at the other two. they're staring over at him and Marc, no question about it. and yeah, Kris has never met them, but even he can tell that no one in this situation looks happy at all.

"dude. just go for it.'

"what?" Marc says, looking up at Kris in shock.

"Man, just do it! go over to them and just...talk, or some shit, i don't know! but the conversation still stands, man. just fucking nut up and go do something about this." Kris shakes his head.

 **gemma** : "No, shut up," Marc hisses, defiantly looking away from Vero and Max. what the fuck are they even _doing there they don't even skateboard_.

"are you seriously chickening out of this right now, you spent like three hours whining to me about how much you missed them last night," Kris hisses right back, stomping his board into the air and staring him down judgmentally.

" _yes_ , okay, yes, i'm chickening out" Marc says, hunching his shoulders around his ears defensively. he can feel Kris' gaze boring a hole in the back of his neck.

"Stop _staring_ at me," he bites out, rolling his skateboard under one foot nervously. he avoids eye contact, stares at the various skate props littering the park. Kris huffs.

"I cannot actually believe you're this much of a non," he chirps, but drops it. "c'mon, let's go."

he drops his board and kicks off, gliding casually down a ramp , obviously waiting for Flower. Marc sighs in relief and skates after him, no pads no helmet, just his feet on his board, letting his body shift and direct him in shallow s curves down the ramp to join his friend. they skate around for a few minutes, racing around the obstacles, seeing who can turn corners the fastest and pull off the fanciest tricks. they skate down the vert pipes, where Kris soundly beats Marc at everything, laughing when Flower protests that Tanger's a vert skater normally and that if they were in the urban jungle Flower would definitely win (which is true).

they're panting a bit, joking around after trying out some spin flips, shoving a little bit. Marc perches on one of the rails, leaning forward to make a point when Kris looks over Flower's shoulder and his smile turns intent.

"watch out," he warns, and Marc would have been more confused if Tanger hadn't immediately reached out and shoved against the side of his head, overbalancing him and sending him toppling off the rail, rolling a little awkwardly down the slope a couple of feet, and then tilted his head back and laughed. really obnoxiously (and fakely) at that, and Flower's just really confused again.

Tanger isn't the kind of kid who'd do that, who takes pleasure in causing pain to others (unless they're fighting, because Flower can definitely envision a jersey with Letang on it in front of his crease, tangling with the forwards) because he's been on the receiving end so many times. so Flower's, y'know, understandably bewildered as to why Tanger is suddenly acting like he is.

"Dude, what the fuck," he says, sitting up slowly, blinking back his reactionary tears. his palms sting and he inspects them, grimacing at the scrapes already tingeing red. "G _reat,_ dude," he says in annoyance, "now I'm bleeding."

"good,' Kris says back. Marc raises his eyebrows, like, maybe he got Kris wrong?

"act a bit more hurt than that!" Kris hisses at him suddenly, flapping a hand at him discreetly, like, holding his arm straight down but gesturing wildly with one hand without moving the rest of his arm.

" _What_ ," Flower says, because literally, what the fuck.

" _Do it,_ " Tanger hisses at him, glaring ferociously. Marc rolls his eyes, and exaggeratedly staggers to his feet, presses a hand to his temple-- and gets a great view of Max Talbot flat out running through the skatepark towards them, a thundercloud in his eyes and a snarl on his lips. he looks savage, dangerous, so _so angry._

Kris shakes out his shoulders a little bit, like he's preparing to get boarded or something, and Marc just stares white faced and huge-eyed at Max, who vaults over three rails, barreling through people like they aren't even there, and slams into Kris with an audible _thump_ , the two of them grappling _in the middle of the skatepark_ what even is _happening_

he hears a few things that Max is gritting out, trying to get a good grip on Kris' clothes, trying to, to- Marc doesn't even _know_ what he's trying to do but it looks like he's trying to beat the shit out of Kris and-uh. not doing too well at that, mainly because Kris has waaay more experience with fighting, on ice and off ice both, and also he has 10 lbs and an inch on Max.

but Marc can hear Max growling something that sounds suspiciously like "you keep your filthy hands _off of him_ " as he tries to get leverage and-- is Max getting into a fight _over_ _him_?? Marc doesn't even know what to think about that, looks up and sees Vero big-eyed and worried staring over at them from across the skate park, can hear Kris and Max duking it out, panting loud interspersed with angry grunts. Vero meets Marc’s eyes and starts jogging over worry apparent on her face. Tanger pushes away from Max, shoves him sprawling, and looks at Marc, flushed and intense. he's got a split lip.

"Nut up," he says challengingly, daringly, and he backs away a bit as Max scrambles to his feet, looking outraged that he would dare talk to Marc.

 **penny** : "Max, _Max_ ," Marc says forcefully, laying a hand on Max's shoulder as Max gets up and rolls up his sleeves, completely ready to go at Kris again. 'would you help me?' he hisses at Vero, who snaps out of her daze and helps restrain Max -- though she's not exactly being _forceful_ about it, only just holding on to him and glancing worriedly at Marc every few seconds.

"Maxime, i'm fine, stop _fucking fighting_ me!" Marc says angrily, pushing Max back hard, hard enough that he loses his balance and lands against Vero. it seems to snap him out of the rage he was in, though, so Marc counts it as a victory -- except Max rights himself and looks at Marc, eyes flashing.

"he _hurt_ you, Flower. _no one_ gets to hurt you."

"Max, i am _fine_. stop fucking _arguing_ and _listen_ to me, for _once in your life_!" Marc says.

"Max, he's fine. it's not worth it, anyway," Vero says comfortingly. Max seems to deflate, tension seeping out of his body slowly. and as it does, the three of them realize that yes, they are standing in public, causing a scene, and oh right, this is the first time all three of them have been together since...since whatever happened happened. Marc drops his hand from Max's shoulder.

"We should...get out of here. go somewhere less public." Max and Vero just nod, so Marc picks up his board. Kris has gone off to the ramp to play around with some of the other skaters, but he looks over at Marc and his....entourage, and nods to Marc. Marc waves back at him, and Kris winks at him, mouthing 'nut up' one more time before turning and taking off on his board.

"Come on," Marc says to Vero and Max, walking out of the park. he walks much more steadily than he feels, right now, because his heart is pounding much faster than it should be and he can't really believe this is actually happening. it's like he's moving through a dream. he takes them across the street, where there's a regular wooded park that has several secluded benches, where he hopes maybe they can talk in relative privacy.

They find a bench under a tree, and Marc sits down on the end, leaving Vero to sit next to him and Max to sit next to her.

"So. do you want to explain what that was, back there, Max?" Marc asks, challenge clear in his voice.

"No," Max says sullenly. Vero elbows him. "Ow! fine, Vero, jesus, just get your elbows out of my ribs!" Vero giggles awkwardly, smiling at Marc. she's met with a smaller smile than she wanted, and no further response. Max sighs.

"I just...I don't...he _hurt_ you, okay? No one should be getting hurt. not by the people they call their friends." Marc _just barely_ manages not to roll his eyes, because -- really? does Max not think about what he's saying at all? He’s being so hypocritical it’s infuriating.

"Vero!" Max yelps. Vero has apparently elbowed him, again, and harder this time.

"Max!" Vero imitates. "Tell him how you actually feel, you dumbass. the real reason. i don't care that it's hard for you idiots to talk about your feelings. just fucking do it." and okay, Max looks terrified of Vero's glare, at this point, so clearly he's learned something from all the time he's spent with her.

"I just hate seeing you hurt, okay, Marc? I like you too much to be okay with seeing you get hurt, and I can't stand knowing that there's another friend who let you down like that."

"I don't get it,' Marc says. "why the fuck do you care so much? and if you do, if there's a good fucking reason -- why did both of you just _leave_? if you're so concerned about not hurting me, _why did you leave_?"

Max sighs, and looks at Vero helplessly. (and Vero's gone for that face, honestly, how on earth can she say no to that face when it's staring at her without a clue of what to do?) so she turns to Marc.

"We pulled away because...because we both liked you. we both liked you more than you thought. and we wanted to, I don't know, seduce you or woo you or something. and it was a dumb idea, and it turned out horribly, and we suck. but that's why, Marc. it's because we both wanted to be with you, and we didn't know how to make it happen naturally."

and Marc -- Marc just kind of stares at them. it's like it's everything he wanted to hear, but now that he hears it, he's...he's not sure what to do. because all of sudden he has everything he wanted in front of him, laid out like a feast, and...he has no idea what to do with it.

"Marc?" Max says, hesitantly. "it's true, man. you're, like, you're it. when we were doing whatever we were doing, earlier this year...I wanted more. and Vero wanted more. so we...we tried to figure out the best way to get what we wanted." he looks down at his hands.

" guess we didn't realize how terribly that would go."

"Communication,' Marc parrots wisely, because he's heard it from enough of his friends that he understands the importance of it now.

"Right!" Vero says, pointing at him.

"So here's our communication," she says, reaching out and grabbing Marc's wrist with one hand, and twining the fingers of her other hand with Max's. "We owe you, like, fifty years of explanations. and we both get that. but we want to get one thing out there: we both like you, we both want to be with you. i know that's hard to understand without understanding everything else that went on, between us and with you, but...we really do, okay, Marc? we -- we both really love you. i'm not sure we know how to be our best selves without you."

 **gemma** : and well. to be quite honest, like, brutally, _brutally_ honest? Marc-Andre Fleury is just so fed up with the weird headspace that he's been in for the past--whatever. for the past two months, ever since school started and his downward spiral began, Marc's been basically self destructing. unhealthy life decisions and all that crap they teach you in seventh grade health class.

and he's pretty sick and tired of it. he's tired and tired of feeling sick and tired and has spent too much time trying to, to, process his hurt and whatever, spent too many hours prodding at that wound for it to have any more than a dull throb in it now. he thinks that maybe he's done with being angry and resentful and feeling hurt.

so, like slipping out of his goalie pads, Marc lets go of his residual anger and hurt with a long breath. and yeah, he's said he'd done it before, but this time, this time, Marc thinks it'll stick.

he's done with those feelings.

and now he's got room in his head and in his heart, space to think about the new feelings that Vero's kind of tossing at him. it's literally everything he's wanted since the past summer, since there were long nights over at Vero's, catching fireflies and skating and kissing each other sweetly and carefully like every cliche Marc has ever heard of, since there was rough-yet-tender jerkoff sessions with Max and some kisses and beard scruff and hours of video games and watching sports together when they should have been working on their earth science project.

and they're just... offering it.

all three of them.

together.

Marc's brain kind of shorts out for a few seconds, trying to imagine a world in which he was allowed to be that happy. He thinks that maybe karma's coming around to work, like his misery has been so bad that the cosmic universe needs to balance it out by giving him this, and he has had enough of hesitation, of miscommunication, of days and weeks spent in a miserable haze of self-loathing, and he says,

"Yes."

"Yes?" Vero repeats hopefully, and Max is looking at him intently, his fingers twitching like he wants to be holding Marc's hand too.

"Yes," Marc says, nodding, assuring himself as he keeps on, "Yes, let's try this. yes, I like you. both of you. yes, I want more."

"Yes to all of it?' Max checks, looking a heartbeat away from jumping Flower right then and there.

"Yes to all of it,' Marc says, determined now, still a bit wary in the back of his mind but mostly shocked stupid by joy that maybe something good is happening to him for once ( _Vero said she loves me, he thinks kind of hysterically, Max loves me they both love me they love me lovelovelove_ ).

"Yes!" Vero squeals, and then they all kind of lunge for each other, Max coming around front so they're in a knot falling off the bench, and Max is hugging them both tightly, so tightly, and Vero is kissing Marc and Marc is kissing Vero and then they both turn their heads and try to kiss Max and it's sloppy and wet and messy and disgusting but it's all three of them, _together_ , and it's _amazing_.

 **penny** : and it's so _good_ , is the weird thing. they sit in front of the bench, a knot of giggles and sloppy uncoordinated kisses, and it _works_. and Marc can't remember being this happy in a long time. Vero turns back to Marc, grabbing his face so that he's facing her. he has a second to figure out what's going on before she's kissing him again, and it's not like any other time they've kissed, it's not sweet and tender, not like their kisses when they weren't quite something. no, this one is _filthy_.

Vero's completely in control, and Marc just...gives in. lets Vero take over and it's so good, it's incredible. it's slow and almost syrupy, but there's an underlying tension, a promise of more. a low moan breaks their haze, though, and both of them turn to look at Max, who is sitting back on his heels, staring at the two of them, eyes glazed over.

He looks sinfully debauched, and Marc suddenly, fiercely, wants to kiss him. and hey, now he can, right? So he leans over and grabs the collar of Max's t-shirt, pulling him in. it's a completely different kiss than what it was with Vero, more push and pull, give and take. and Max -- Max is loud, giving as good as he gets but making pleased sounds the whole time, louder and louder the deeper the kiss gets. There's a giggle from Vero, and the boys break apart to look at her.

"People are staring," she says with a smile. they look around and sure enough, they're getting angry looks from parents walking around the park with their children.

"Let them stare," Max says decisively, and any response from Vero gets smothered as he leans in to kiss her. Marc just watches them, and it's once again a completely different kiss from either of the ones Marc had, but it's still so hot, and Marc kind of can't believe it? because he gets to have this, have both of them with him and with each other, and it's so good. an old man 'tsks' at them from the sidewalk, but none of them pay any attention to him, too wrapped up in their own happiness. Vero and Max take it in turns to kiss the breath out of Marc, slow kisses that make everyone melt and harder kisses that make Max moan even if he's not involved. they're there on the ground for at least ten minutes when someone comes over and clears their throat loudly.

"Ex _cuse_ me," the person says, and Max and Marc break apart, Vero looking up from where she's been resting her head against Marc's shoulder. It’s an older woman, almost painfully prim and proper looking, lips pinched, and she’s glaring down at them in clear contempt.

"Yes?" Vero says, lazily, obviously too gone on glee to take note of manners.

"You three do realize you are on public property, right? This is a complete show of public indecency," the woman says angrily. "You're making parents and children uncomfortable." and there are indeed parents who are carefully avoiding their little bench, moving their children away quickly.

"It's a free country," Max shrugs, and pulls Marc back toward him. Marc goes easily, and Max starts kissing him again, more forcefully this time. Vero smiles sunnily up at the woman, who is swelling up like a bullfrog with her indignation.

"I'm going to have you all arrested for public indecency!" the woman declares, walking away. Max and Marc ignore her.

"Guys, she really is on the phone..."Vero says slowly, sounding like she’s about to burst out laughing. Marc and Max break apart (again, and Marc is tired of being interrupted, wants to make out with his boyfriend and girlfriend for as long as he wants, laws be damned) and look down the sidewalk, where indeed, the woman is on the phone, staring at the three of them and gesturing angrily. The three of them look at each other for a moment, and they burst out laughing, Vero jumps up, extending a hand to pull Marc up as well. Marc grabs his board as Vero helps Max up. once they're all standing, Vero grabs a hand from each of them, framed by her big, intimidating, sweetheart boyfriends. they're still giggling as Vero pulls them down the sidewalk, away from the woman. they're running, laughing, hands clasped between them, and Marc...Marc has never felt so _free_ , so completely empty of burden.

 **gemma** : They all go to Flower's house, piling into his basement with Max calling his parents and telling them that he’s sleeping over for project-related reasons and Vero telling her parents that she’s hanging out with Marc and not to wait up, and they proceed to strip down to underwear and continue making out. they slow down a bit, kissing sweeter and more lingeringly, and the current of excitement between them buoys them up, keeping them smiling and touching each other.

they don't really get further than than heated necking, self-conscious giggling breaking into stuttering moans as they discover that necks are very sensitive. they break for a dinner of KD, three boxes in one pot, all inhaled.

it's like their vibe has been fixed, everything flowing easy and flirty and fun between the three of them, no awkward pauses in the conversation, everything great. each one of them, individually, takes a few minutes sometime during the night to lean back and look at the other two and smile helplessly, elated. none of them can quite get over the idea that they're dating now, officially, that they have a boyfriend and a girlfriend (or two boyfriends) and they can kiss and hug and do dating things and--it's overwhelming, but in a good way.

unfortunately, the KD kills their sexy vibes, all of them feeling much less like fooling around with warm food in their bellies and the end of their serotonin high, and they crash on Marc's futon, tangled up in each other's arms.

during the night, they discover that Max is a sheet hog, Vero is an accomplished pillow thief, and Marc, who is in the middle, sleeps like a log, because he's the only one who didn't wake up in the middle of the night, confused about the sudden influx of people in their bed before they realized, _oh right_ and went back to sleep, grinning fit to burst.

the next day, after flailing through the grumbly morning of _ugh schoooool_  and getting all giggly again when they realized that it was real, they realize that Max, at least, is going to have to do the walk of shame because he doesn't have enough time to go to his place and get clothes and Marc's stuff _definitely_ isn't going to fit him. they also realize that all three of them have very obvious evidence of their last night activities, each of them giving a low whistle as they stare at themselves in the mirror set in Flower's door.

"I look like I'm in an abusive relationship," Flower says, kind of shocked. he's got hickeys like thumbprints by the base of his neck, under his jaw, by his hips, dark shadows and red stains littered over his torso liberally and his palms are all scraped up and he looks like he's been in a fight. three of them. consecutively. and lost all of them. he’s got fucking _teeth marks_ on his neck.

Max isn't much better, but that's because he bruises a lot less easily. There aren't as many on his neck, they spent more time kissing him properly and sucking hickeys onto his pecs and sides. he shrugs into his clothes from the day before, making a face at the smell, looking critically at the hickeys still visible (which is less, but still a lot).

Veronique has hickeys of the red-rash variety, under her ear and on the back of her neck, the curve of her jaw. She wears a high collared shirt, the edges of her hickeys playing peek-a-boo as she walks, dusted with a brief touch of concealer. They make out for a bit after they all brush their teeth, and they go to school together. they split up a few blocks away from Waddle Street, steal quick kisses and hand-squeezes before strategically making their way inside.

The day is all sorts of giggly awkward, all three of them feeling like they've got a secret. Max, predictably, gets some shit from his football buddies but not a lot beyond that. Vero's makeup skills work well enough that no one really looks twice, and she goes through the day with a self-satisfied smile on her face, smugness emanating from her seat. two people edge away from her subtly.

Flower, on the other hand... he usually sits at the back of the classroom, and since it's fall he's wearing a thick hoodie zipped all the way up and his beanie and two tee-shirts on top of one another and his favorite jeans, embracing the skater image for all it's worth. But all of that doesn't save him when he sits down for lunch with Sid and Zhego the Russian, and Sid nails him with his crazy-eyes the second he sits down. Flower looks to the sides self-consciously.

"What," he says. Sid's eyes narrow, and he reaches across the table and yanks Flower's collar down.

"What the hell?" Marc yelps, jerking back and zipping up his hoodie as fast as he can. Sid frowns prodigiously at him, looking pissed.

"What are those," he says, sounding livid, "Are those fingerprints? Who gave you those? Tell me who did that and I'll take the team and we'll go beat him up for you."

Flower stares at Sid in disbelief, not only because _Sidney Crosby_ was offering to go _beat someone up_ , but also because Sid couldn't recognize hickeys, even when they were painfully obvious. Like, Flower had _teeth imprints_ on the left side of his neck, how the fuck did Sidney miss that.

Luckily, Evya the Russian had had more sexual prowess, and is holding Sidney down in his seat with one paw-like hand, chuckling. "No finger marks Sid," he says, clearly deeply amused. "Hickeys, i think the word?"

"Hickeys?" and if possible, that's even _worse_ because Sid looks so confused and also outraged.

"Did you get laid?' Sid hisses, "Before a game? Before our _first game_?' Sidney Crosby, ladies and gentlemen. Of course he's one of those players who thinks that that messes up your play.

"No," Marc tells him, pouting a little bit. "I didn't get laid."

He's not even pissed about it, and he knows that he's smiling kind of stupidly as he talks. Sid stares at him, hard, before his face clears up.

"You guys finally sat down and communicated?" he asks, sounding self-satisfied. Flower doesn't have the heart to tell him that there was less talking than Sid probably meant, and nods. 

"Good,' Sid says, and he opens his Russian history book again, pen in one hand and fork in the other. His Russian, on the other hand, reaches across the lunch table to punch Flower amicably in the shoulder and grin at him.

"Offer still good," he says peacefully. "You need enforcer, you have."

and Flower doesn't know what to do with that, so he looks down and eats his food, knowing that his smile never leaves his face.

 **penny** : Suddenly it's an entire month later, and the three of them are on their twentieth 'date.' They're lying in Max's room, finishing up the last of the Lord of the Rings marathon they've had. Max is lying in the middle of his bed, and he's got Vero's chin on one shoulder, her eyes focused on the movie, and on his other side, Marc is sprawled out, pressed shoulder-to-toe against Max. their fingers are laced together and it's not a big deal, but Max has to stop for a moment and catch his breath. it's just a moment, but it's so amazingly _easy_ , he's so _happy_ , that it takes his breath away.

and then another month passes and they've graduated from makeouts to fumbling to second base to third base, 

and Max and Vero go to Flower’s first travel game of the season, early in January. They don’t make it too obvious they’re there for him, but he knows, and really, that’s what matters. They beam at him as he skates out for warmups and he nearly trips on his way to the net. it’s a good game, both teams skating hard, but Marc's team has at least four people on the roster who have been drafted by the NAHL for the next year and the end is all but determined at first puck drop.

Flower plays like a brick wall and he manages a shutout, and he can’t help but shoot a glance at Max and Vero as they scream for the team (for him) as the timer runs out. It makes the W feel all the more validating. That, and the fact that he gets a shutout. They visit him in the team's motel afterwards, and the front desk delivers a cheap bouquet of flowers to his room.

February comes with heaps of snow and their first Valentine's Day, which they spend in a little diner, out of the way of prying eyes and nosy friends. Marc and Max are sitting opposite Vero, and they're both playing footsie with her under the table, and she's trying to be annoyed but she honestly just can't get it past her smile. Marc's wearing Max's letterman jacket even though it’s too big on him, and Vero herself is wearing a jersey with Marc's name across the back, and all the while Max is sporting the watch he got from both of them for his eighteenth birthday. And Vero stares at the two of them staring at each other, at her, and smiles to herself as they bring out their Valentine's Day gifts for each other over dessert. Things are finally good.

It's the end of March, and Flower's on the ice, solid between his pipes. It's the playoffs, it's the last game of the season, it's win it or die trying, and Sid's been rocking the crazy-eyes for a week and a half. The minutes of the last period are ticking by with a tied score, not that Flower's watching the clock, he's trying to keep the puck out. But every time he looks up, when the puck's down at the other end, he can just see, out of the corner of his eye, where Max and Vero are sitting, second row from the ice. They've got a sign, with his name on it, and they're wearing -- they're wearing his practise jerseys, the ones he took out of his gear bag yesterday because he wouldn't be needing them anymore, the ones with his name on the back, and it's. _well_.

If he wasn't a superb goalie and therefore always focused on his game, it would distract him. But then Sid slaps another goal past the opposing team's goalie, assisted (of course) by Egnevo the Russian, to make it 3-2, and the minutes go by until there's only one left, and then it's half a minute, and then the final buzzer sounds and -- and they've _done it_. They've won the championship, and Flower rushes as fast as he can in his gear down the ice, throwing himself onto the pile of teammates already celebrating. There's so much noise, everywhere, and Flower's getting more pats on the head than he can remember getting in his whole life, and then -- they're rushing through the handshake line, none of them able to stop grinning like idiots.

Finally, finally, they're done, and they line up to be given their medals, little metal ones their parents can hang up somewhere. Those medals don't really matter; the best moment comes when Sid is handed the championship banner, and he takes it, draping it around his shoulders like a cape, and skates a lap around the ice. The foot tall individual trophies will be handed out later. The rest of the guys wait their turn, and Flower's completely expecting Yevgi the Russian to be next, but Sid skates over to him. 'You've earned this, Marc,' is all Sid says to him as he hands Marc the banner, and Marc knows that statement holds much more meaning than just his performance as goalie, and whatever, everyone's a bit choked up right now. so he just takes the banner from Sid, taps their helmets together in sent thanks (for the banner, for the friendship, for _everything_ ) and skates off down the ice.

As he gets to where Max and Vero are still jumping around, waving their sign wildly in the air (well, okay, Max is), he lifts the banner just a little bit higher, winking at them with a smile.

He's not sure he's ever felt happier.


End file.
